“My work keeps me in the woods so much I remain there for my religion also. Whenever I find these flowers I always pause for a little service of my own that begins by reciting these lines:

'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth
And tolls its perfume on the passing air
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth
A call to prayer.'"

“Beautiful!” said the Girl.

“It’s mighty convenient,” explained the Harvester. “By my method, you see, you don’t have to wait for your day and hour of worship. Anywhere the blue bell rings its call is Sunday in the woods and in your heart. After I recite that, I pray my prayer.” (Harvester 183)