CHAPTER XV
THE HARVESTER INTERPRETS LIFE
They went through the rooms together, and the Girl suggested the
furnishings she thought necessary, while the Harvester wrote the
list. The following morning he was eager to have her company, but
she was very tired and begged to be allowed to wait in the swing,
so again he drove away and left her with Belshazzar on guard. When
he had gone, she went through the cabin arranging the furniture
the best she could, then dressed and went to the swinging couch.
It was so wide and heavy a light wind rocked it gently, and from
it she faced the fern and lily carpeted hillside, the majesty of
big trees of a thousand years, and heard the music of Singing Water
as it sparkled diamond-like where the sun rays struck its flow.
Across the drive and down the valley to the brilliant bit of marsh
it hurried on its way to Loon Lake.
There were squirrels barking and racing in the big trees and over
the ground. They crossed the sodded space of lawn and came to the
top step for nuts, eating them from cunning paws. They were living
life according to the laws of their nature. She knew that their
sharp, startling bark was not to frighten her, but to warn straying
intruders of other species of their kindred from a nest, because
the Harvester had told her so. He had said their racing here and
there in wild scramble was a game of tag and she found it most interesting
to observe.
Birds of brilliant colour flashed everywhere, singing in wild joy,
and tilted on the rising hedge before her, hunting berries and seeds.
Their bubbling, spontaneous song was an instinctive outpouring of
their joy over mating time, nests, young, much food, and running
water. Their social, inquiring, short cry was to locate a mate,
and call her to good feeding. The sharp wild scream of a note was
when a hawk passed over, a weasel lurked in the thicket, or a black
snake sunned on the bushes. She remembered these things, and lay
listening intently, trying to interpret every sound as the Harvester
did.
Birds of wide wing hung as if nailed to the sky, or wheeled and
sailed in grandeur. They were searching the landscape below to locate
a hare or snake in the waving grass or carrion in the fields. The
wonderful exhibitions of wing power were their expression of exultation
in life, just as the song sparrow threatened to rupture his throat
as he swung on the hedge, and the red bird somewhere in the thicket
whistled so forcefully it sounded as if the notes might hurt him.
On the lake bass splashed in a game with each other. Grebes chattered,
because they were very social. Ducks dived and gobbled for roots
and worms of the lake shore, and congratulated each other when they
were lucky.
Killdeer cried for slaughter, in plaintive tones, as their white
breasts gleamed silver-like across the sky. They insisted on the
death of their ancient enemies, because the deer had trampled nests
around the shore, roiled the water, spoiled the food hunting, and
had been wholly unmindful of the laws of feathered folk from the
beginning.
Behind the barn imperial cocks crowed challenges of defiance to
each other and all the world, because they once had worn royal turbans
on their heads, and ruled the forests, even the elephants and lions.
Happy hens cackled when they deposited an egg, and wandered through
their park singing the spring egg song unceasingly.
Upon the barn Ajax spread and exulted in glittering plumage, and
screamed viciously. He was sending a wireless plea to the forests
of Ceylon for a gray mate to come and share the ridge pole with
him, and help him wage red war on the sickening love making of the
white doves he hated.
Everything was beautiful, some of it was amusing, all instructive,
and intensely interesting. The Girl wanted to know about the brown,
yellow, and black butterflies sailing from flower to flower. She
watched big black and gold bees come from the forest for pollen
and listened to their monotonous bumbling. Her first humming bird
poised in air, and sipped nectar before her astonished eyes. It
was marvellous, but more wonderful to the Girl than anything she
saw or heard was the fact that because of the Harvester's teachings
she now could trace through all of it the ordained processes of
the evolution of life. Everything was right in its way, all necessary
to human welfare, and so there was nothing to fear, but marvels
to learn and pictures to appreciate. She would have taken Belshazzar
and gone out, but the Harvester had exacted a promise that she would
not. The fact was, he could see that she was coming gradually to
a sane and natural view of life and living things, and he did not
want some sound or creature to frighten her, and spoil what he had
accomplished. So she swayed in the swing and watched, and tried
to interpret sights and sounds as he did.
Before an hour she realized that she was coming speedily into sympathy
with the wild life around her; for, instead of shivering and shrinking
at unaccustomed sounds, she was listening especially for them, and
trying to arrive at a sane version. Instead of the senseless roar
of commerce, manufacture, and life of a city, she was beginning
to appreciate sounds that varied and carried the Song of Life in
unceasing measure and absorbing meaning, while she was more than
thankful for the fresh, pure air, and the blessed, God-given light.
It seemed to the Girl that there was enough sunshine at Medicine
Woods to furnish rays of gold for the whole world.
``Bel,'' she said to the dog standing beside her, ``it's a shame
to separate you from the Medicine Man and pen you here with me.
It's a wonder you don't bite off my head and run away to find him.
He's gone to bring more things to make life beautiful. I wanted
to go with him, but oh Bel, there's something dreadfully wrong with
me. I was afraid I'd fall on the streets and frighten and shame
him. I'm so weak, I scarcely can walk straight across one of these
big, cool rooms that he has built for me. He can make everything
beautiful, Bel, a home, rooms, clothing, grounds, and life----above
everything else he can make life beautiful. He's so splendid and
wonderful, with his wide understanding and sane interpretation and
God-like sympathy and patience. Why Belshazzar, he can do the greatest
thing in all the world! He can make you forget that the grave annihilates
your dear ones by hideous processes, and set you to thinking instead
that they come back to you in whispering leaves and flower perfumes.
If I didn't owe him so much that I ought to pay, if this wasn't
so alluringly beautiful, I'd like to go to the oak and lie beside
those dear women resting there, and give my tired body to furnish
sap for strength and leaves for music. He can take its bitterest
sting----from death, Bel----and that's the most wonderful thing----in
life, Bel----''
Her voice became silent, her eyes closed; the dog stretched himself
beside her on guard, and it was so the Harvester found them when
he drove home from the city. He heaped his load in the dining-room,
stabled Betsy, carried the things he had brought where he thought
they belonged, and prepared food. When she awakened she came to
him.
``How is it going, Girl?'' asked the Harvester.
``I can't tell you how lovely it has been!''
``Do you really mean that your heart is warming a little to things
here?''
``Indeed I do! I can't tell you what a morning I've had. There have
been such myriad things to see and hear. Oh, Harvester, can you
ever teach me what all of it means?''
``I can right now,'' said the Harvester promptly. ``It means two
things, so simple any little child can understand----the love of
God and the evolution of life. I am not precisely clear as to what
I mean when I say God. I don't know whether it is spirit, matter,
or force; it is that big thing that brings forth worlds, establishes
their orbits, and gives us heat, light, food, and water. To me,
that is God and His love. Just that we are given birth, sheltered,
provisioned, and endowed for our work. Evolution is the natural
consequence of this. It is the plan steadily unfolding. If I were
you, I wouldn't bother my head over these questions, they never
have been scientifically explained to the beginning; I doubt if
they ever will be, because they start with the origin of matter
and that is too far beyond man for him to penetrate. Just enjoy
to the depths of your soul----that's worship. Be thankful for everything----that's
praising God as the birds praise him. And `do unto others' that's
all there is of love and religion combined in one fell swoop.''
``You should go before the world and tell every one that!''
``No! It isn't my vocation,'' said the Harvester. ``My work is to
provide pain-killer. I don't believe, Ruth, that there is any one
on the footstool who is doing a better job along that line. I am
boastfully proud of it----just of sending in the packages that kill
fever, refresh poor blood, and strengthen weak hearts; unadulterated,
honest weight, fresh, and scrupulously clean. My neighbours have
a different name for it; I call it a man's work.''
``Every one who understands must,'' said the Girl. ``I wish I could
help at that. I feel as if it would do more to wipe out the pain
I've suffered and seen her endure than anything else. Man, when
I grow strong enough I want to help you. I believe that I am going
to love it here.''
``Don't ever suppress your feelings, Ruth!'' hastily cried the Harvester.
``It will be very bad for you. You will become wrought up, and `het
up,' as Granny Moreland says, and it will make you very ill. When
we drive the fever from your blood, the ache from your bones, the
poison of wrong conditions from your soul, and good, healthy, red
corpuscles begin pumping through your little heart like a windmill,
you can stake your life you're going to love it here. And the location
and work are not all you're going to care for either, honey. Now
just wait! That was not `nominated in the bond.' I'm allowed to
talk. I never agreed not to SAY things. What I promised was not
to DO them. So as I said, honey, sit at this table, and eat the
food I've cooked; and by that time the furniture van will be here,
and the men will unload, and you shall reign on a throne and tell
me where and how.''
``Oh if I were only stronger, David!''
``You are!'' said the Harvester. ``You are much better than you
were yesterday. You can talk, and that's all that's necessary. The
rooms are ready for furniture. The men will carry it where you want
it. A decorator is coming to hang the curtains. By night we will
be settled; you can lie in the swing while I read to you a story
so wonderful that the wildest fairy tale you ever heard never touched
it.''
``What will it be, David?''
``Eat all the red raspberries and cream, bread and butter, and drink
all the milk you can. There's blood, beefsteak, and bones in it.
As I was saying, you have come here a stranger to a strange land.
The first thing is for you to understand and love the woods. Before
you can do that you should master the history of one tree; just
the same as you must learn to know and love me before your childlike
trust in all mankind returns again. Understand? Well, the fates
knew you were on the way, coming trembling down the brink, Ruth,
so they put it into the heart of a great man to write largely of
a wonderful tree, especially for your benefit. After it had fallen
he took it apart, split it in sections, and year by year spread
out history for all the world to read. It made a classic story filled
with unsurpassed wonders. It was a pine of a thousand years, close
the age of our mother tree, Ruth, and when we have learned from
Enos Mills how to wrest secrets from the hearts of centuries, we
will climb the hill and measure our oak, and then I will estimate,
and you will write, and we will make a record for our tree.''
``Oh, I'd like that!''
``So would I,'' said the Harvester. ``And a million other things
I can think of that we can learn together. It won't require long
for me to teach you all I know, and by that time your hand will
be clasped in mine, and our `hearts will beat as one,' and you will
give me a kiss every night and morning, and a few during the day
for interest, and we will go on in life together and learn songs,
miracles, and wonders until the old oak calls us. Then we will ascend
the hill gladly and lie down and offer up our bodies, and our children
will lay flowers over our hearts, and gather the herbs and paint
the pictures? Amen. I hear a van on the bridge. Just you go to your
room and lie down until I get things unloaded and where they belong.
Then you and the decorator can make us home- like, and to-morrow
we will begin to live. Won't that be great, Ruth?''
``With you, yes, I think it will.''
``That will do for this time,'' said the Harvester, as he opened
the door to her room. ``Lie and rest until I say ready.''
As he went to meet the men, she could hear him singing lustily,
``Praise God from whom all blessings flow.''
``What a child he is!'' she said. ``And what a man!''
For an hour heavy feet sounded through the cabin carrying furniture
to different rooms. Then with a floor brush in one hand, and a polishing
cloth in the other, the Harvester tapped at her door and helped
the Girl upstairs. He had divided the space into three large, square
sleeping chambers. In each he had set up a white iron bed, a dressing
table, and wash stand, and placed two straight-backed and one rocking
chair, all white. The walls were tinted lightly with green added
to the plaster. There was a mattress and a stack of bedding on each
bed, and a large rug and several small ones on the floors. He led
her to the rocking chair in the middle room, where she could see
through the open doors of the other two.
``Now,'' said the Harvester, ``I didn't know whether the room with
two windows toward the lake and one on the marsh, or two facing
the woods and one front, was the guest chamber. It seemed about
an even throw whether a visitor would prefer woods or water, so
I made them both guest chambers, and got things alike for them.
Now if we are entertaining two, one can't feel more highly honoured
than the other. Was that a scheme?''
``Fine!'' said the Girl. ``I don't see how it could be surpassed.''
`` `Be sure you are right, then go ahead,' '' quoted the Harvester.
``Now I'll make the beds and Mr. Rogers can hang the curtains. Is
white correct for sleeping rooms? Won't that wash best and always
be fresh?''
``It will,'' said the Girl. ``White wash curtains are much the nicest.''
``Make them short Mr. Rogers; keep them off the floor,'' advised
the Harvester. ``And simple----don't arrange any thing elaborate
that will tire a woman to keep in order. Whack them off the right
length and pin them to the poles.''
``How about that, Mrs. Langston?'' asked the decorator.
``I am quite sure that is the very best thing to do,'' said the
Girl; and the curtains were hung while the mattress was placed.
``Now about this?'' inquired the Harvester. ``Do I put on sheets
and fix these beds ready to use?''
``I would not,'' said the Girl. ``I would spread the pad and the
counterpane and lay the sheets and pillows in the closet until they
are wanted. They can be sunned and the bed made delightfully fresh.''
``Of course,'' said the Harvester.
When he had finished, he spread a cover on the dressing table and
laid out white toilet articles and grouped a white wash set with
green decorations on the stand. Then he brushed the floor, spread
a big green rug in the middle and small ones before the bed, stand,
and table, and coming out closed the door.
``Guest chamber with lake view is now ready for company,'' announced
the Harvester. ``Repeat the operation on the woods room, finished
also. Why do some people make work of things and string them out
eternally and fuss so much? Isn't this simple and easy, Ruth?''
``Yes, if you can afford it,'' said the Girl.
``Forbear!'' cried the Harvester. ``We have the goods, the dealer
has my check. Excuse me ten minutes, until I furnish another room.''
The laughing Girl could catch glimpses of him busy over beds and
dresser, floor and rugs; then he came where she sat.
``Woods guest chamber ready,'' he said. ``Now we come to the interior
apartment, that from its view might be called the marsh room. Aside
from being two windows short, it is exactly similar to the others.
It occurred to me that, in order to make up for the loss of those
windows, and also because I may be compelled to ask some obliging
woman to occupy it in case your health is precarious at any time,
and in view of the further fact that if any such woman could be
found, and would kindly and willingly care for us, my gratitude
would be inexpressible; on account of all these things, I got a
shade the BEST furnishings for this room.''
The Girl stared at him with blank face.
``You see,'' said the Harvester, ``this is a question of ethics.
Now what is a guest? A thing of a day! A person who disturbs your
routine and interferes with important concerns. Why should any one
be grateful for company? Why should time and money be lavished on
visitors? They come. You overwork yourself. They go. You are glad
of it. You return the visit, because it's the only way to have back
at them; but why pamper them unnecessarily? Now a good housekeeper,
that means more than words can express. Comfort, kindness, sanitary
living, care in illness! Here's to the prospective housekeeper of
Medicine Woods! Rogers, hang those ruffled embroidered curtains.
Observe that whereas mere guest beds are plain white, this has a
touch of brass. Where guest rugs are floor coverings, this is a
work of art. Where guest brushes are celluloid, these are enamelled,
and the dresser cover is hand embroidered. Let me also call your
attention to the chairs touched with gold, cushioned for ease, and
a decorated pitcher and bowl. Watch the bounce of these springs
and the thickness of this mattress and pad, and notice that where
guests, however welcome, get a down cover of sateen, the lady of
the house has silkaline. Won't she prepare us a breakfast after
a night in this room?''
``David, are you in earnest?'' gasped the Girl.
``Don't these things prove it?'' asked the Harvester. ``No woman
can enter my home, when my necessities are so great I have to hire
her to come, and take the WORST in the house. After my wife, she
gets the best, every time. Whenever I need help, the woman who will
come and serve me is what I'd call the real guest of the house.
Friend? Where are your friends when trouble comes? It always brings
a crowd on account of the excitement, and there is noise and racing;
but if your soul is saved alive, it is by a steady, trained hand
you pay to help you. Friends come and go, but a good housekeeper
remains and is a business proposition--one that if conducted rightly
for both parties and on a strictly common-sense basis, gives you
living comfort. Now that we have disposed of the guests that go
and the one that remains, we will proceed downward and arrange for
ourselves.''
``David, did you ever know any one who treated a housekeeper as
you say you would?''
``No. And I never knew any one who raised medicinal stuff for a
living, but I'm making a gilt-edged success of it, and I would of
a housekeeper, too.''
``It doesn't seem----''
``That's the bedrock of all the trouble on the earth,'' interrupted
the Harvester. ``We are a nation and a part of a world that spends
our time on `seeming.' Our whole outer crust is `seeming.' When
we get beneath the surface and strike the BEING, then we live as
we are privileged by the Almighty. I don't think I give a tinker
how anything SEEMS. What concerns me is how it IS. It doesn't `seem'
possible to you to hire a woman to come into your home and take
charge of its cleanliness and the food you eat--the very foundation
of life--and treat her as an honoured guest, and give her the best
comfort you have to offer. The cold room, the old covers, the bare
floor, and the cast off furniture are for her. No wonder, as a rule,
she gives what she gets. She dignifies her labour in the same ratio
that you do. Wait until we need a housekeeper, and then gaze with
awe on the one I will raise to your hand.''
``I wonder----''
``Don't! It's wearing! Come tell me how to make our living-room
less bare than it appears at present.''
They went downstairs together, followed by the decorator, and began
work on the room. The Girl was placed on a couch and made comfortable
and then the Harvester looked around.
``That bundle there, Rogers, is the curtains we bought for this
room. If you and my wife think they are not right, we will not hang
them.''
The decorator opened the package and took out curtains of tan-coloured
goods with a border of blue and brown.
``Those are not expensive,'' said the Harvester, ``but to me a window
appears bare with only a shade, so I thought we'd try these, and
when they become soiled we'll burn them and buy some fresh ones.''
``Good idea!'' laughed the Girl. ``As a house decorator you surpass
yourself as a Medicine Man.''
``Fix these as you did those upstairs,'' ordered the Harvester.
``We don't want any fol-de-rols. Put the bottom even with the sill
and shear them off at the top.''
``No, I am going to arrange these,'' said the decorator, ``you go
on with your part.''
``All right!'' agreed the Harvester. ``First, I'll lay the big rug.''
He cleared the floor, spread a large rug with a rich brown centre
and a wide blue border. Smaller ones of similar design and colour
were placed before each of the doors leading from the room.
``Now for the hearth,'' said the Harvester, ``I got this tan goat
skin. Doesn't that look fairly well?''
It certainly did; and the Girl and the decorator hastened to say
so. The Harvester replaced the table and chairs, and then sat on
the couch at the Girl's feet.
``I call this almost finished,'' he remarked. ``All we need now
is a bouquet and something on the walls, and that is serious business.
What goes on them usually remains for a long time, and so it should
be selected with care. Ruth, have you a picture of your mother?''
``None since she was my mother. I have some lovely girl photographs.''
``Good!'' cried the Harvester. ``Exactly the thing! I have a picture
of my mother when she was a pretty girl. We will select the best
of yours and have them enlarged in those beautiful brown prints
they make in these days, and we'll frame one for each side of the
mantel. After that you can decorate the other walls as you see things
you want. Fifteen minutes gone; we are ready to take up the line
of march to the dining-room. Oh I forgot my pillows! Here are a
half dozen tan, brown, and blue for this room. Ruth, you arrange
them.''
The Girl heaped four on the couch, stood one beside the hearth,
and laid another in a big chair.
``Now I don't know what you will think of this,'' said the Harvester.
``I found it in a magazine at the library. I copied this whole room.
The plan was to have the floor, furniture, and casings of golden
oak and the walls pale green. Then it said get yellow curtains bordered
with green and a green rug with yellow figures, so I got them. I
had green leather cushions made for the window seats, and these
pillows go on them. Hang the saffron curtains, Rogers, and we will
finish in good shape for dinner by six. By the way, Ruth, when will
you select your dishes? It will take a big set to fill all these
shelves and you shall have exactly what you want.''
``I can use those you have very well.''
``Oh no you can't!'' cried the Harvester. ``I may live and work
in the woods, but I am not so benighted that I don't own and read
the best books and magazines, and subscribe for a few papers. I
patronize the library and see what is in the stores. My money will
buy just as much as any man's, if I do wear khaki trousers. Kindly
notice the word. Save in deference to your ladyship I probably would
have said pants. You see how ELITE I can be if I try. And it not
only extends to my wardrobe, to a `yaller' and green dining-room,
but it takes in the `chany' as well. I have looked up that, too.
You want china, cut glass, silver cutlery, and linen. Ye! Ye! You
needn't think I don't know anything but how to dig in the dirt.
I have been studying this especially, and I know exactly what to
get.''
``Come here,'' said the Girl, making a place for him beside her.
``Now let me tell you what I think. We are going to live in the
woods, and our home is a log cabin----''
``With acetylene lights, a furnace, baths, and hot and cold water----''
interpolated the Harvester.
The Girl and the decorator laughed.
``Anyway,'' said she, ``if you are going to let me have what I would
like, I'd prefer a set of tulip yellow dishes with the Dutch little
figures on them. I don't know what they cost, but certainly they
are not so expensive as cut glass and china.''
``Is that earnest or is it because you think I am spending too much
money?''
``It is what I want. Everything else is different; why should we
have dishes like city folk? I'd dearly love to have the Dutch ones,
and a white cloth with a yellow border, glass where it is necessary,
and silver knives, forks, and spoons.''
``That would be great, all right!'' endorsed the decorator. ``And
you have got a priceless old lustre tea set there, and your willow
ware is as fine as I ever saw. If I were you, I wouldn't buy a dish
with what you have, except the yellow set.''
``Great day!'' ejaculated the Harvester. ``Will you tell me why
my great grandmother's old pink and green teapot is priceless?''
The Girl explained pink lustre. ``That set in the shop I knew in
Chicago would sell for from three to five hundred dollars. Truly
it would! I've seen one little pink and green pitcher like yours
bring nine dollars there. And you've not only got the full tea set,
but water and dip pitchers, two bowls, and two bread plates. They
are priceless, because the secret of making them is lost; they take
on beauty with age, and they were your great- grandmother's.''
The Harvester reached over and energetically shook hands.
``Ruth, I'm so glad you've got them!'' he bubbled. ``Now elucidate
on my willow ware. What is it? Where is it? Why have I willow ware
and am not informed. Who is responsible for this? Did my ancestors
buy better than they knew, or worse? Is willow ware a crime for
which I must hide my head, or is it further riches thrust upon me?
I thought I had investigated the subject of proper dishes quite
thoroughly; but I am very certain I saw no mention of lustre or
willow. I thought, in my ignorance, that lustre was a dress, and
willow a tree. Have I been deceived? Why is a blue plate or pitcher
willow ware?''
``Bring that platter from the mantel,'' ordered the Girl, ``and
I will show you.''
The Harvester obeyed and followed the finger that traced the design.
``That's a healthy willow tree!'' he commented. ``If Loon Lake couldn't
go ahead of that it should be drained. And will you please tell
me why this precious platter from which I have eaten much stewed
chicken, fried ham, and in youthful days sopped the gravy----will
you tell me why this relic of my ancestors is called a willow plate,
when there are a majority of orange trees so extremely fruitful
they have neglected to grow a leaf? Why is it not an orange plate?
Look at that boat! And in plain sight of it, two pagodas, a summer
house, a water-sweep, and a pair of corpulent swallows; you would
have me believe that a couple are eloping in broad daylight.''
``Perhaps it's night! And those birds are doves.''
``Never!'' cried the Harvester. ``There is a total absence of shadows.
There is no moon. Each orange tree is conveniently split in halves,
so you can see to count the fruit accurately; the birds are in flight.
Only a swallow or a stork can fly in decorations, either by day
or by night. And for any sake look at that elopment! He goes ahead
carrying a cane, she comes behind lugging the baggage, another man
with a cane brings up the rear. They are not running away. They
have been married ten years at least. In a proper elopement, they
forget there are such things as jewels and they always carry each
other. I've often looked up the statistics and it's the only authorized
version. As I regard this treasure, I grow faint when I remember
with what unnecessary force my father bore down when he carved the
ham. I'll bet a cooky he split those orange trees. Now me----I'll
never dare touch knife to it again. I'll always carve the meat on
the broiler, and gently lift it to this platter with a fork. Or
am I not to be allowed to dine from my ancestral treasure again?''
``Not in a green and yellow room,'' laughed the Girl. ``I'll tell
you what I think. If I had a tea table to match the living-room
furniture, and it sat beside the hearth, and on it a chafing dish
to cook in, and the willow ware to eat from, we could have little
tea parties in there, when we aren't very hungry or to treat a visitor.
It would help make that room `homey,' and it's wonderful how they
harmonize with the other things.''
``How much willow ware have I got to `bestow' on you?'' inquired
the Harvester. ``Suppose you show me all of it. A guilty feeling
arises in my breast, and I fear me I have committed high crimes!''
``Oh Man! You didn't break or lose any of those dishes, did you?''
``Show me!'' insisted the Harvester.
The Girl arose and going to the cupboard he had designed for her
china she opened it, and set before him a teapot, cream pitcher,
two plates, a bowl, a pitcher, the meat platter, and a sugar bowl.
``If there were all of the cups, saucers, and plates, I know where
they would bring five hundred dollars,'' she said.
``Ruth, are you getting even with me for poking fun at them, or
are you in earnest?'' asked the Harvester.
``I mean every word of it.''
``You really want a small, black walnut table made especially for
those old dishes?''
``Not if you are too busy. I could use it with beautiful effect
and much pleasure, and I can't tell you how proud I'd be of them.''
The Harvester's face flushed. ``Excuse me,'' he said rising. ``I
have now finished furnishing a house; I will go and take a peep
at the engine.'' He went into the kitchen and hearing the rattle
of dishes the Girl followed. She stepped in just in time to see
him hastily slide something into his pocket. He picked up a half
dozen old white plates and saucers and several cups and started
toward the evaporator. He heard her coming.
``Look here, honey,'' he said turning, ``you don't want to see the
dry-house just now. I have terrific heat to do some rapid work.
I won't be gone but a few minutes. You better boss the decorator.
``I'm afraid that wasn't very diplomatic,'' he muttered. ``It savoured
a little of being sent back. But if what she says is right, and
she should know if they handle such stuff at that art store, she
will feel considerably better not to see this.''
He set his load at the door, drew an old blue saucer from his pocket
and made a careful examination. He pulled some leaves from a bush
and pushed a greasy cloth out of the saucer, wiped it the best he
could, and held it to light.
``That is a crime!'' he commented. ``Saucer from your maternal ancestors'
tea set used for a grease dish. I am afraid I'd better sink it in
the lake. She'd feel worse to see it than never to know. Wish I
could clean off the grease! I could do better if it was hot. I can
set it on the engine.''
The Harvester placed the saucer on the engine, entered the dry-house,
and closed the door. In the stifling air he began pouring seed from
beautiful, big willow plates to the old white ones.
``About the time I have ruined you,'' he said to a white plate,
``some one will pop up and discover that the art of making you is
lost and you are priceless, and I'll have been guilty of another
blunder. Now there are the dishes mother got with baking powder.
She thought they were grand. I know plenty well she prized them
more than these blue ones or she wouldn't have saved them and used
these for every day. There they set, all so carefully taken care
of, and the Girl doesn't even look at them. Thank Heaven, there
are the four remaining plates all right, anyway! Now I've got seed
in some of the saucers; one is there; where on earth is the last
one? And where, oh unkind fates! are the cups?''
He found more saucers and set them with the plates. As he passed
the engine he noticed the saucer on it was bubbling grease, literally
exuding it from the particles of clay.
``Hooray!'' cried the Harvester. He took it up, but it was so hot
he dropped it. With a deft sweep he caught it in air, and shoved
it on a tray. Then he danced and blew on his burned hand. Snatching
out his handkerchief he rubbed off all the grease, and imagined
the saucer was brighter.
``If `a little is good, more is better,' '' quoted the Harvester.
Wadding the handkerchief he returned the saucer to the engine. Then
he slipped out, dripping perspiration, glanced toward the cabin,
and ran into the work room. The first object he saw was a willow
cup half full of red paint, stuck and dried as if to remain forever.
He took his knife and tried to whittle it off, but noticing that
he was scratching the cup he filled it with turpentine, set it under
a work bench, turned a tin pan over it, and covered it with shavings.
A few steps farther brought one in sight, filled with carpet tacks.
He searched everywhere, but could find no more, so he went to the
laboratory. Beside his wash bowl at the door stood the last willow
saucer. He had used it for years as a soap dish. He scraped the
contents on the bench and filled the dish with water. Four cups
held medicinal seeds and were in good condition. He lacked one,
although he could not remember of ever having broken it. Gathering
his collection, he returned to the dry-house to see how the saucer
was coming on. Again it was bubbling, and he polished off the grease
and set back the dish. It certainly was growing better. He carried
his treasures into the work room, and went to the barn to feed.
As he was leaving the stable he uttered a joyous exclamation and
snatched from a window sill a willow cup, gummed and smeared with
harness oil.
``The full set, by hokey!'' marvelled the Harvester. ``Say, Betsy,
the only name for this is luck! Now if I only can clean them, I'll
be ready to make her tea table, whatever that is. My I hope she
will stay away until I get these in better shape!''
He filled the last cup with turpentine, set it with the other under
the work bench, stacked the remaining pieces, polished the saucer
he was baking, and went to bring a dish pan and towel. He drew some
water from the pipes of the evaporator, put in the soap, and carried
it to the work room. There he carefully washed and wiped all the
pieces, save two cups and one saucer. He did not know how long it
would require to bake the grease from that, but he was sure it was
improving. He thought he could clean the paint cup, but he imagined
the harness oil one would require baking also.
As he stood busily working over the dishes, with light step the
Girl came to the door. She took one long look and understood. She
turned and swiftly went back to the cabin, but her shoulders were
shaking. Presently the Harvester came in and explained that after
finishing in the dry-house he had gone to do the feeding. Then he
suggested that before it grew dark they should go through the rooms
and see how they appeared, and gather the flowers the Girl wanted.
So together they decided everything was clean, comfortable, and
harmonized.
Then they went to the hillside sloping to the lake. For the dining-room,
the Girl wanted yellow water lilies, so the Harvester brought his
old boat and gathered enough to fill the green bowl. For the living-room,
she used wild ragged robins in the blue bowl, and on one end of
the mantel set a pitcher of saffron and on the other arrowhead lilies.
For her room, she selected big, blushy mallows that grew all along
Singing Water and around the lake.
``Isn't that slightly peculiar?'' questioned the Harvester.
``Take a peep,'' said the Girl, opening her door.
She had spread the pink coverlet on her couch, and when she set
the big pink bowl filled with mallows on the table the effect was
exquisite.
``I think perhaps that's a little Frenchy,'' she said, ``and you
may have to be educated to it; but salmon pink and buttercup yellow
are colours I love in combination.''
She closed the door and went to find something to eat, and then
to the swing, where she liked to rest, look, and listen. The Harvester
suggested reading to her, but she shook her head.
``Wait until winter,'' she said, ``when the days are longer and
cold, and the snow buries everything, and then read. Now tell me
about my hedge and the things you have planted in it.''
The Harvester went out and collected a bunch of twigs. He handed
her a big, evenly proportioned leaf of ovate shape, and explained:
``This is burning bush, so called because it has pink berries that
hang from long, graceful stems all winter, and when fully open they
expose a flame-red seed pod. It was for this colour on gray and
white days that I planted it. In the woods I grow it in thickets.
The root bark brings twenty cents a pound, at the very least. It
is good fever medicine.''
``Is it poison?''
``No. I didn't set anything acutely poisonous in your hedge. I wanted
it to be a mass of bloom you were free to cut for the cabin all
spring, an attraction to birds in summer, and bright with colour
in winter. To draw the feathered tribe, I planted alder, wild cherry,
and grape-vines. This is cherry. The bark is almost as beautiful
as birch. I raise it for tonics and the birds love the cherries.
This fern-like leaf is from mountain ash, and when it attains a
few years' growth it will flame with colour all winter in big clusters
of scarlet berries. That I grow in the woods is a picture in snow
time, and the bark is one of my standard articles.''
The Girl raised on her elbow and looked at the hedge.
``I see it,'' she said. ``The berries are green now. I suppose they
change colour as they ripen.''
``Yes,'' said the Harvester. ``And you must not confuse them with
sumac. The leaves are somewhat similar, but the heads differ in
colour and shape. The sumac and buckeye you must not touch, until
we learn what they will do to you. To some they are slightly poisonous,
to others not. I couldn't help putting in a few buckeyes on account
of the big buds in early spring. You will like the colour if you
are fond of pink and yellow in combination, and the red-brown nuts
in grayish-yellow, prickly hulls, and the leaf clusters are beautiful,
but you must use care. I put in witch hazel for variety, and I like
its appearance; it's mighty good medicine, too; so is spice brush,
and it has leaves that colour brightly, and red berries. These selections
were all made for a purpose. Now here is wafer ash; it is for music
as well as medicine. I have invoked all good fairies to come and
dwell in this hedge, and so I had to provide an orchestra for their
dances. This tree grows a hundred tiny castanets in a bunch, and
when they ripen and become dry the wind shakes fine music from them.
Yes, they are medicine; that is, the bark of the roots is. Almost
without exception everything here has medicinal properties. The
tulip poplar will bear you the loveliest flowers of all, and its
root bark, taken in winter, makes a good fever remedy.''
``How would it do to eat some of the leaves and see if they wouldn't
take the feverishness from me?''
``It wouldn't do at all,'' said the Harvester. ``We are well enough
fixed to allow Doc to come now, and he is the one to allay the fever.''
``Oh no!'' she cried. ``No! I don't want to see a doctor. I will
be all right very soon. You said I was better.''
``You are,'' said the Harvester. ``Much better! We will have you
strong and well soon. You should have come in time for a dose of
sassafras. Your hedge is filled with that, because of its peculiar
leaves and odour. I put in dogwood for the white display around
the little green bloom, lots of alder for bloom and berries, haws
for blossoms and fruit for the squirrels, wild crab apples for the
exquisite bloom and perfume, button bush for the buttons, a few
pokeberry plants for the colour, and I tried some mallows, but I
doubt if it's wet enough for them. I set pecks of vine roots, that
are coming nicely, and ferns along the front edge. Give it two years
and that hedge will make a picture that will do your eyes good.''
``Can you think of anything at all you forgot?''
``Yes indeed!'' said the Harvester. ``The woods are full of trees
I have not used; some because I overlooked them, some I didn't want.
A hedge like this, in perfection, is the work of years. Some species
must be cut back, some encouraged, but soon it will be lovely, and
its colour and fruit attract every bird of the heavens and butterflies
and insects of all varieties. I set several common cherry trees
for the robins and some blackberry and raspberry vines for the orioles.
The bloom is pretty and the birds you'll have will be a treat to
see and hear, if we keep away cats, don't fire guns, scatter food,
and move quietly among them. With our water attractions added, there
is nothing impossible in the way of making friends with feathered
folk.''
``There is one thing I don't understand,'' said the Girl. ``You
wouldn't risk breaking the wing of a moth by keeping it when you
wanted a drawing very much; you don't seem to kill birds and animals
that other people do. You almost worship a tree; now how can you
take a knife and peel the bark to sell or dig up beautiful bushes
by the root.''
``Perhaps I've talked too much about the woods,'' said the Harvester
gently. ``I've longed inexpressibly for sympathetic company here,
because I feel rooted for life, so I am more than anxious that you
should care for it. I may have made you feel that my greatest interest
is in the woods, and that I am not consistent when I call on my
trees and plants to yield of their store for my purposes. Above
everything else, the human proposition comes first, Ruth. I do love
my trees, bushes, and flowers, because they keep me at the fountain
of life, and teach me lessons no book ever hints at; but above everything
come my fellow men. All I do is for them. My heart is filled with
feeling for the things you see around you here, but it would be
joy to me to uproot the most beautiful plant I have if by so doing
I could save you pain. Other men have wives they love as well, little
children they have fathered, big bodies useful to the world, that
are sometimes crippled with disease. There is nothing I would not
give to allay the pain of humanity. It is not inconsistent to offer
any growing thing you soon can replace, to cure suffering. Get that
idea out of your head! You said you could worship at the shrine
of the pokeberry bed, you feel holier before the arrowhead lilies,
your face takes on an appearance of reverence when you see pink
mallow blooms. Which of them would you have hesitated a second in
uprooting if you could have offered it to subdue fever or pain in
the body of the little mother you loved?''
``Oh I see!'' cried the Girl. ``Like everything else you make this
different. You worship all this beauty and grace, wrought by your
hands, but you carry your treasure to the market place for the good
of suffering humanity. Oh Man! I love the work you do!''
``Good!'' cried the Harvester. ``Good! And Ruth- girl, while you
are about it, see if you can't combine the man and his occupation
a little.''