CHAPTER XIX
A VERTICAL SPINE
By middle September the last trace of illness had been removed from
the premises, and it was rapidly disappearing from the face and
form of the Girl. She was showing a beautiful roundness, there was
lovely colour on her cheeks and lips, and in her dark eyes sparkled
a touch of mischief. Rigidly she followed the rules laid down for
diet and exercise, and as strength flowed through her body, and
no trace of pain tormented her, she began revelling in new and delightful
sensations. She loved to pull her boat as she willed, drive over
the wood road, study the books, cook the new dishes, rearrange furniture,
and go with the Harvester everywhere.
But that was greatly the management of the man. He was so afraid
that something might happen to undo all the wonders accomplished
in the Girl, and again whiten her face with pain, that he scarcely
allowed her out of his sight. He remained in the cabin, helping
when she worked, and then drove with her and a big blanket to the
woods, arranged her chair and table, found some attractive subject,
and while the wind ravelled her hair and flushed her cheeks, her
fingers drew designs. At noon they went to the cabin to lunch, and
the Girl took a nap, while the Harvester spread his morning's reaping
on the shelves to dry. They returned to the woods until five o'clock;
then home again and the Girl dressed and prepared supper, while
the Harvester spread his stores and fed the stock. Then he put on
white clothing for the evening. The Girl rested while he washed
the dishes, and they explored the lake in the little motor boat,
or drove to the city for supplies, or to see their friends.
``Are you even with your usual work at this time of the year?''
she asked as they sat at breakfast.
``I am,'' said the Harvester. ``The only things that have been crowded
out are the candlesticks. They will have to remain on the shelf
until the herbs and roots are all in, and the long winter evenings
come. Then I'll use the luna pattern and finish yours first of all.''
``What are you going to do to-day?''
``Start on a regular fall campaign. Some of it for the sake of having
it, and some because there is good money in it. Will you come?''
``Indeed yes. May I help, or shall I take my drawing along?''
``Bring your drawing. Next fall you may help, but as yet you are
too close suffering for me to see you do anything that might be
even a slight risk. I can't endure it.''
``Baby!'' she jeered.
``Christen me anything you please,'' laughed the Harvester. ``I'm
short on names anyway.''
He went to harness Betsy, and the Girl washed the dishes, straightened
the rooms, and collected her drawing material. Then she walked up
the hill, wearing a shirt and short skirt of khaki, stout shoes,
and a straw hat that shaded her face. She climbed into the wagon,
laid the drawing box on the seat, and caught the lines as the Harvester
flung them to her. He went swinging ahead, Belshazzar to heel, the
Girl driving after. The white pigeons circled above, and every day
Ajax allowed his curiosity to overcome his temper, and followed
a little farther.
``Whoa, Betsy!'' The Girl tugged at the lines; but Betsy took the
bit between her teeth, and plodded after the Harvester. She pulled
with all her might, but her strength was not nearly sufficient to
stop the stubborn animal.
``Whoa, David!'' cried the Girl.
``What is it?'' the Harvester turned.
``Won't you please wait until I can take off my hat? I love to ride
bareheaded through the woods, and Betsy won't stop until you do,
no matter how hard I pull.''
``Betsy, you're no lady!'' said the Harvester. ``Why don't you stop
when you're told?''
``I shan't waste any more strength on her,'' said the Girl. ``Hereafter
I shall say, `Gee, David,' `Haw, David,' `Whoa, David,' and then
she will do exactly as you.''
The Harvester stopped half way up the hill, and beside a large,
shaded bed spread the rug, and set up the little table and chair
for the Girl.
``Want a plant to draw?'' he asked. ``This is very important to
us. It has a string of names as long as a princess, but I call it
goldenseal, because the roots are yellow. The chemists ask for hydrastis.
That sounds formidable, but it's a cousin of buttercups. The woods
of Ohio and Indiana produce the finest that ever grew, but it is
so nearly extinct now that the trade can be supplied by cultivation
only. I suspect I'm responsible for its disappearance around here.
I used to get a dollar fifty a pound, and most of my clothes and
books when a boy I owe to it. Now I get two for my finest grade;
that accounts for the size of these beds.''
``It's pretty!'' said the Girl, studying a plant averaging a foot
in height. On a slender, round, purplish stem arose one big, rough
leaf, heavily veined, and having from five to nine lobes. Opposite
was a similar leaf, but very small, and a head of scarlet berries
resembling a big raspberry in shape. The Harvester shook the black
woods soil from the yellow roots, and held up the plant.
``You won't enjoy the odour,'' he said.
``Well I like the leaves. I know I can use them some way. They are
so unusual. What wonderful colour in the roots!''
``One of its names is Indian paint,'' explained the Harvester. ``Probably
it furnished the squaws of these woods with colouring matter. Now
let's see what we can get out of it. You draw the plant and I'll
dig the roots.''
For a time the Girl bent over her work and the Harvester was busy.
Belshazzar ranged the woods chasing chipmunks. The birds came asking
questions. When the drawing was completed, other subjects were found
at every turn, and the Girl talked almost constantly, her face alive
with interest. The May-apple beds lay close, and she drew from them.
She learned the uses and prices of the plant, and also made drawings
of cohosh, moonseed and bloodroot. That was so wonderful in its
root colour, the Harvester filled the little cup with water and
she began to paint. Intensely absorbed she bent above the big, notched,
silvery leaves and the blood-red roots, testing and trying to match
them exactly. Every few minutes the Harvester leaned over her shoulder
to see how she was progressing and to offer suggestions. When she
finished she picked up a trailing vine of moonseed.
``You have this on the porch,'' she said. ``I think it is lovely.
There is no end to the beautiful combinations of leaves, and these
are such pretty little grape-like clusters; but if you touch them
the slightest you soil the wonderful surface.''
``And that makes the fairies very sad,'' said the Harvester. ``They
love that vine best of any, because they paint its fruit with the
most care. `Bloom' the scientists call it. You see it on cultivated
plums, grapes, and apples, but never in any such perfection as on
moonseed and black haws in the woods. You should be able to design
a number of pretty things from the cohosh leaves and berries, too.
You scarcely can get a start this fall, but early in the spring
you can begin, and follow the season. If your work comes out well
this winter, I'll send some of it to the big publishing houses,
and you can make book and magazine covers and decorations, if you
would like.''
`` `If I would like!' How modest! You know perfectly well that if
I could make a design that would be accepted, and used on a book
or magazine, I would almost fly. Oh do you suppose I could?''
``I don't `suppose' anything about it, I know,'' said the Harvester.
``It is not possible that the public can be any more tired of wild
roses, golden-rod, and swallows than the poor art editors who accept
them because they can't help themselves. Dangle something fresh
and new under their noses and see them snap. The next time I go
to Onabasha I'll get you some popular magazines, and you can compare
what is being used with what you see here, and judge for yourself
how glad they would be for a change. And potteries, arts and crafts
shops, and wall paper factories, they'd be crazy for the designs
I could furnish them. As for money, there's more in it than the
herbs, if I only could draw.''
``I can do that,'' said the Girl. ``Trail the vine and give me an
idea how to scale it. I'll just make studies now, and this winter
I'll conventionalize them and work them into patterns. Won't that
be fun?''
``That's more than fun, Ruth,'' said the Harvester solemnly. ``That
is creation. That touches the provinces of the Almighty. That is
taking His unknown wonders and making them into pleasure and benefit
for thousands, not to mention filling your face with awe divine,
and lighting your eyes with interest and ambition. That is life,
Ruth. You are beginning to live right now.''
``I see,'' said the Girl. ``I understand! I am!''
``You get your subjects now. When the harvest is over I'll show
you what I have in my head, and before Christmas the fun will begin.''
``What next?''
``Sketch a sarsaparilla plant and this yam vine. It grows on your
veranda too----the rattle box, you remember. The leaves and seeding
arrangements are wonderful. You can do any number of things with
them, and all will be new.''
He called her attention to and brought her samples of ginger leaves,
Indian hemp, queen-of-the-meadow, cone-flower, burdock, baneberry,
and Indian turnip, as he harvested them in turn. When they came
to the large beds of orange pleurisy root the Girl cried out with
pleasure.
``We will take its prosaic features first,'' said the Harvester.
``It is good medicine and worth handling. Forget that! The Bird
Woman calls it butterfly flower. That's better. Now try to analyze
a single bloom of this gaudy mass, and you will see why there's
poetry coming.''
He knelt beside the Girl, separating the blooms and pointing out
their marvellous colour and construction. She leaned against his
shoulder, and watched with breathless interest. As his bare head
brought its mop of damp wind-rumpled hair close, she ran her fingers
through it, and with her handkerchief wiped his forehead.
``Sometimes I almost wish you'd get sick,'' she said irrelevantly.
``In the name of common sense, why?'' demanded the Harvester.
``Oh it must be born in the heart of a woman to want to mother something,''
answered the Girl. ``I feel sometimes as if I would like to take
care of you, as if you were a little fellow. David, I know why your
mother fought to make you the man she desired. You must have been
charming when small. I can shut my eyes and just see the boy you
were, and I should have loved you as she did.''
``How about the man I am?'' inquired the Harvester promptly. ``Any
leanings toward him yet, Ruth?''
``It's getting worser and worser every day and hour,'' said the
Girl. ``I don't understand it at all. I wouldn't try to live without
you. I don't want you to leave my sight. Everything you do is the
way I would have it. Nothing you ever say shocks or offends me.
I'd love to render you any personal service. I want to take you
in my arms and hug you tight half a dozen times a day as a reward
for the kind and lovely things you do for me.''
A dull red flamed up the neck and over the face of the Harvester.
One arm lifted to the chair back, the other dropped across the table
so that the Girl was almost encircled.
``For the love of mercy, Ruth, why haven't I had a hint of this
before?'' he cried.
``You said you'd hate me. You said you'd drop me into the deepest
part of the lake if I deceived you; and if I have to tell the truth,
why, that is all of it. I think it is nonsense about some wonderful
feeling that is going to take possession of your heart when you
love any one. I love you so much I'd gladly suffer to save you pain
or sorrow. But there are no thrills; it's just steady, sober, common
sense that I should love you, and I do. Why can't you be satisfied
with what I can give, David?''
``Because it's husks and ashes,'' said the Harvester grimly. ``You
drive me to desperation, Ruth. I am almost wild for your love, but
what you offer me is plain, straight affection, nothing more. There
isn't a trace of the feeling that should exist between man and wife
in it. Some men might be satisfied to be your husband, and be regarded
as a father or brother. I am not. The red bird didn't want a sister,
Ruth, he was asking for a mate. So am I. That's as plain as I know
how to put it. There is some way to awaken you into a living, loving
woman, and, please God, I'll find it yet, but I'm slow about it;
there's no question of that. Never you mind! Don't worry! Some of
these days I have faith to believe it will sweep you as a tide sweeps
the shore, and then I hope God will be good enough to let me be
where you will land in my arms.''
The Girl sat looking at him between narrowed lids. Suddenly she
took his head between her hands, drew his face to hers and deliberately
kissed him. Then she drew away and searched his eyes.
``There!'' she challenged. ``What is the matter with that?''
The Harvester's colour slowly faded to a sickly white.
``Ruth, you try me almost beyond human endurance,'' he said. ``
`What's the matter with that?' '' He arose, stepped back, folded
his arms, and stared at her. `` `What's the matter with that?' ''
he repeated. ``Never was I so sorely tempted in all my life as I
am now to lie to you, and say there is nothing, and take you in
my arms and try to awaken you to what I mean by love. But suppose
I do----and fail! Then comes the agony of slow endurance for me,
and the possibility that any day you may meet the man who can arouse
in you the feelings I cannot. That would mean my oath broken, and
my heart as well; while soon you would dislike me beyond tolerance,
even. I dare not risk it! The matter is, that was the loving caress
of a ten-year-old girl to a big brother she admired. That's all!
Not much, but a mighty big defect when it is offered a strong man
as fuel on which to feed consuming passion.''
``Consuming passion,'' repeated the Girl. ``David you never lie,
and you never exaggerate. Do you honestly mean that there is something----oh,
there is! I can see it! You are really suffering, and if I come
to you, and try my best to comfort you, you'll only call it baby
affection that you don't want. David, what am I going to do?''
``You are going to the cabin,'' said the Harvester, ``and cook us
a big supper. I am dreadfully hungry. I'll be along presently. Don't
worry, Ruth, you are all right! That kiss was lovely. Tell me that
you are not angry with me.''
Her eyes were wet as she smiled at him.
``If there is a bigger brute than a man anywhere on the footstool,
I should like to meet it,'' said the Harvester, ``and see what it
appears like. Go along, honey; I'll be there as soon as I load.''
He drove to the dry-house, washed and spread his reaping on the
big trays, fed the stock, dressed in the white clothing and entered
the kitchen. That the Girl had been crying was obvious, but he overlooked
it, helped with the work, and then they took a boat ride. When they
returned he proposed that she should select her favourite likeness
of her mother, and the next time he went to the city he would take
it with his, and order the enlargements he had planned. To save
carrying a lighted lamp into the closet he brought her little trunk
to the living-room, where she opened it and hunted the pictures.
There were several, and all of them were of a young, elegantly dressed
woman of great beauty. The Harvester studied them long.
``Who was she, Ruth?'' he asked at last.
``I don't know, and I have no desire to learn.''
``Can you explain how the girl here represented came to marry a
brother of Henry Jameson?''
``Yes. I was past twelve when my father came the last time, and
I remember him distinctly. If Uncle Henry were properly clothed,
he is not a bad man in appearance, unless he is very angry. He can
use proper language, if he chooses. My father was the best in him,
refined and intensified. He was much taller, very good looking,
and he dressed and spoke well. They were born and grew to manhood
in the East, and came out here at the same time. Where Uncle Henry
is a trickster and a trader in stock, my father went a step higher,
and tricked and traded in men----and women! Mother told me this
much once. He saw her somewhere and admired her. He learned who
she was, went to her father's law office and pretended he was representing
some great business in the West, until he was welcomed as a promising
client. He hung around and when she came in one day her father was
forced to introduce them. The remainder is the same world-old story----a
good looking, glib-tongued man, plying every art known to an expert,
on an innocent girl.''
``Is he dead, Ruth?''
``We thought so. We hoped so.''
``Your mother did not feel that her people might be suffering for
her as she was for them?''
``Not after she appealed to them twice and received no reply.''
``Perhaps they tried to find her. Maybe she has a father or mother
who is longing for word from her now. Are you very sure you are
right in not wanting to know?''
``She never gave me a hint from which I could tell who or where
they were. In so gentle a woman as my mother that only could mean
she did not want them to know of her. Neither do I. This is the
photograph I prefer; please use it.''
``I'll put back the trunk in the morning, when I can see better,''
said the Harvester.
The Girl closed it, and soon went to bed. But there was no sleep
for the man. He went into the night, and for hours he paced the
driveway in racking thought. Then he sat on the step and looked
at Belshazzar before him.
``Life's growing easier every minute, Bel,'' said the Harvester.
``Here's my Dream Girl, lovely as the most golden instant of that
wonderful dream, offering me---- offering me, Bel----in my present
pass, the lips and the love of my little sister who never was born.
And I've hurt Ruth's feelings, and sent her to bed with a heartache,
trying to make her see that it won't do. It won't, Bel! If I can't
have genuine love, I don't want anything. I told her so as plainly
as I could find words, and set her crying, and made her unhappy
to end a wonderful day. But in some way she has got to learn that
propinquity, tolerance, approval, affection, even----is not love.
I can't take the risk, after all these years of waiting for the
real thing. If I did, and love never came, I would end ----well,
I know how I would end----and that would spoil her life. I simply
have got to brace up, Bel, and keep on trying. She thinks it is
nonsense about thrills, and some wonderful feeling that takes possession
of you. Lord, Bel! There isn't much nonsense about the thing that
rages in my brain, heart, soul, and body. It strikes me as the gravest
reality that ever overtook a man.
``She is growing wonderfully attached to me. `Couldn't live without
me,' Bel, that is what she said. Maybe it would be a scheme to bring
Granny here to stay with her, and take a few months in some city
this winter on those chemical points that trouble me. There is an
old saying about `absence making the heart grow fonder.' Maybe separation
is the thing to work the trick. I've tried about everything else
I know.
``But I'm in too much of a hurry! What a fool a man is! A few weeks
ago, Bel, I said to myself that if Harmon were away and had no part
in her life I'd be the happiest man alive. Happiest man alive! Bel,
take a look at me now! Happy! Well, why shouldn't I be happy? She
is here. She is growing in strength and beauty every hour. She cares
more for me day by day. From an outside viewpoint it seems as if
I had almost all a man could ask in reason. But when was a strong
man in the grip of love ever reasonable? I think the Almighty took
a pretty grave responsibility when He made men as He did. If I had
been He, and understood the forces I was handling, I would have
been too big a coward to do it. There is nothing for me, Bel, but
to move on doing my level best; and if she doesn't awaken soon,
I will try the absent treatment. As sure as you are the most faithful
dog a man ever owned, Bel, I'll try the absent treatment.''
The Harvester arose and entered the cabin, stepping softly, for
it was dark in the Girl's room, and he could not hear a sound there.
He turned up the lights in the living-room. As he did so the first
thing he saw was the little trunk. He looked at it intently, then
picked up a book. Every page he turned he glanced again at the trunk.
At last he laid down the book and sat staring, his brain working
rapidly. He ended by carrying the trunk to his room. He darkened
the living-room, lighted his own, drew the rain screens, and piece
by piece carefully examined the contents. There were the pictures,
but the name of the photographer had been removed. There was not
a word that would help in identification. He emptied it to the bottom,
and as he picked up the last piece his fingers struck in a peculiar
way that did not give the impression of touching a solid surface.
He felt over it carefully, and when he examined with a candle he
plainly could see where the cloth lining had been cut and lifted.
For a long time he knelt staring at it, then he deliberately inserted
his knife blade and raised it. The cloth had been glued to a heavy
sheet of pasteboard the exact size of the trunk bottom. Beneath
it lay half a dozen yellow letters, and face down two tissue-wrapped
photographs. The Harvester examined them first. They were of a man
close forty, having a strong, aggressive face, on which pride and
dominant will power were prominently indicated. The other was a
reproduction of a dainty and delicate woman, with exquisitely tender
and gentle features. Long the Harvester studied them. The names
of the photographer and the city were missing. There was nothing
except the faces. He could detect traces of the man in the poise
of the Girl and the carriage of her head, and suggestions of the
woman in the refined sweetness of her expression. Each picture represented
wealth in dress and taste in pose. Finally he laid them together
on the table, picked up one of the letters, and read it. Then he
read all of them.
Before he finished, tears were running down his cheeks, and his
resolution was formed. These were the appeals of an adoring mother,
crazed with fear for the safety of an only child, who unfortunately
had fallen under the influence of a man the mother dreaded and feared,
because of her knowledge of life and men of his character. They
were one long, impassioned plea for the daughter not to trust a
stranger, not to believe that vows of passion could be true when
all else in life was false, not to trust her untried judgment of
men and the world against the experience of her parents. But whether
the tears that stained those sheets had fallen from the eyes of
the suffering mother or the starved and deserted daughter, there
was no way for the Harvester to know. One thing was clear: It was
not possible for him to rest until he knew if that woman yet lived
and bore such suffering. But every trace of address had been torn
away, and there was nothing to indicate where or in what circumstances
these letters had been written.
A long time the Harvester sat in deep thought. Then he returned
all the letters save one. This with the pictures he made into a
packet that he locked in his desk. The trunk he replaced and then
went to bed. Early the next morning he drove to Onabasha and posted
the parcel. The address it bore was that of the largest detective
agency in the country. Then he bought an interesting book, a box
of fruit, and hurried back to the Girl. He found her on the veranda,
Belshazzar stretched close with one eye shut and the other on his
charge, whose cheeks were flushed with lovely colour as she bent
over her drawing material. The Harvester went to her with a rush,
and slipping his fingers under her chin, tilted back her head against
him.
``Got a kiss for me, honey?'' he inquired.
``No sir,'' answered the Girl emphatically. ``I gave you a perfectly
lovely one yesterday, and you said it was not right. I am going
to try just once more, and if you say again that it won't do, I'm
going back to Chicago or to my dear Uncle Henry, I haven't decided
which.''
Her lips were smiling, but her eyes were full of tears.
``Why thank you, Ruth! I think that is wonderful,'' said the Harvester.
``I'll risk the next one. In the meantime, excuse me if I give you
a demonstration of the real thing, just to furnish you an idea of
how it should be.''
The Harvester delivered the sample, and went striding to the marsh.
The dazed Girl sat staring at her work, trying to realize what had
happened; for that was the first time the Harvester had kissed her
on the lips, and it was the material expression a strong man gives
the woman he loves when his heart is surging at high tide. The Girl
sat motionless, gazing at her study.
In the marsh she knew the Harvester was reaping queen-of-the-meadow,
and around the high borders, elecampane and burdock. She could hear
his voice in snatches of song or cheery whistle; notes that she
divined were intended to keep her from worrying. Intermingled with
them came the dog's bark of defiance as he digged for an escaping
chipmunk, his note of pleading when he wanted a root cut with the
mattock, his cry of discovery when he thought he had found something
the Harvester would like, or his yelp of warning when he scented
danger. The Girl looked down the drive to the lake and across at
the hedge. Everywhere she saw glowing colour, with intermittent
blue sky and green leaves, all of it a complete picture, from which
nothing could be spared. She turned slowly and looked toward the
marsh, trying to hear the words of the song above the ripple of
Singing Water, and to see the form of the man. Slowly she lifted
her handkerchief and pressed it against her lips, as she whispered
in an awed voice,
``My gracious Heaven, is THAT the kind of a kiss he is expecting
me to give HIM? Why, I couldn't----not to save my life.''
She placed her brushes in water, set the colour box on the paper,
and went to the kitchen to prepare the noon lunch. As she worked
the soft colour deepened in her cheeks, a new light glowed in her
eyes, and she hummed over the tune that floated across the marsh.
She was very busy when the Harvester came, but he spoke casually
of his morning's work, ate heartily, and ordered her to take a nap
while he washed roots and filled the trays, and then they went to
the woods together for the afternoon.
In the evening they came home to the cabin and finished the day's
work. As the night was chilly, the Harvester heaped some bark in
the living-room fireplace, and lay on the rug before it, while the
Girl sat in an easy chair and watched him as he talked. He was telling
her about some wonderful combinations he was going to compound for
different ailments and he laughingly asked her if she wanted to
be a millionaire's wife and live in a palace.
``Of course I could if I wanted to!'' she suggested.
``You could!'' cried the Harvester. ``All that is necessary is to
combine a few proper drugs in one great remedy and float it. That
is easy! The people will do the remainder.''
``You talk as if you believe that,'' marvelled the Girl.
``Want it proven?'' challenged the Harvester.
``No!'' she cried in swift alarm. ``What do we want with more than
we have? What is there necessary to happiness that is not ours now?
Maybe it is true that the `love of money is the root of all evil.'
Don't you ever get a lot just to find out. You said the night I
came here that you didn't want more than you had and now I don't.
I won't have it! It might bring restlessness and discontent. I've
seen it make other people unhappy and separate them. I don't want
money, I want work. You make your remedies and offer them to suffering
humanity for just a living profit, and I'll keep house and draw
designs. I am perfectly happy, free, and unspeakably content. I
never dreamed that it was possible for me to be so glad, and so
filled with the joy of life. There is only one thing on earth I
want. If I only could----''
``Could what, Ruth?''
``Could get that kiss right----''
The Harvester laughed.
``Forget it, I tell you!'' he commanded. ``Just so long as you worry
and fret, so long I've got to wait. If you quit thinking about it,
all `unbeknownst' to yourself you'll awake some morning with it
on your lips. I can see traces of it growing stronger every day.
Very soon now it's going to materialize, and then get out of my
way, for I'll be a whirling, irresponsible lunatic, with the wild
joy of it. Oh I've got faith in that kiss of yours, Ruth! It's on
the way. The fates have booked it. There isn't a reason on earth
why I should be served so scurvy a trick as to miss it, and I never
will believe that I shall----''
``David,'' interrupted the Girl, ``go on talking and don't move
a muscle, just reach over presently and fix the fire or something,
and then turn naturally and look at the window beside your door.''
``Shall miss it,'' said the Harvester steadily. ``That would be
too unmerciful. What do you see, Ruth?''
``A face. If I am not greatly mistaken, it is my Uncle Henry and
he appears like a perfect fiend. Oh David, I am afraid!''
``Be quiet and don't look,'' said the Harvester.
He turned and tossed a piece of bark on the fire. Then he reached
for the poker, pushed it down and stirred the coals. He arose as
he worked.
``Rise slowly and quietly and go to your room. Stay there until
I call you.''
With the Girl out of the way, the Harvester pottered over the fire,
and when the flame leaped he lifted a stick of wood, hesitated as
if it were too small, and laying it down, started to bring a larger
one. In the dining- room he caught a small stick from the wood box,
softly stepped from the door, and ran around the house. But he awakened
Belshazzar on the kitchen floor, and the dog barked and ran after
him. By the time the Harvester reached the corner of his room the
man leaped upon a horse and went racing down the drive. The Harvester
flung the stick of wood, but missed the man and hit the horse. The
dog sprang past the Harvester and vanished. There was the sound
and flash of a revolver, and the rattle of the bridge as the horse
crossed it. The dog came back unharmed. The Harvester ran to the
telephone, called the Onabasha police, and asked them to send a
mounted man to meet the intruder before he could reach a cross road;
but they were too slow and missed him. However, the Girl was certain
she had recognized her uncle, and was extremely nervous; but the
Harvester only laughed and told her it was a trip made out of curiosity.
Her uncle wanted to see if he could learn if she were well and happy,
and he finally convinced her that this was the case, although he
was not very sanguine himself.
For the next three days the Harvester worked in the woods and he
kept the Girl with him every minute. By the end of that time he
really had persuaded himself that it was merely curiosity. So through
the cooling fall days they worked together. They were very happy.
Before her wondering eyes the Harvester hung queer branches, burs,
nuts, berries, and trailing vines with curious seed pods. There
were masses of brilliant flowers, most of them strange to the Girl,
many to the great average of humanity. While she sat bending over
them, beside her the Harvester delved in the black earth of the
woods, or the clay and sand of the open hillside, or the muck of
the lake shore, and lifted large bagfuls of roots that he later
drenched on the floating raft on the lake, and when they had drained
he dried them. Some of them he did not wet, but scraped and wiped
clean and dry. Often after she was sleeping, and long before she
awoke in the morning, he was at work carry- ing heaped trays from
the evaporator to the store- room, and tying the roots, leaves,
bark, and seeds into packages.
While he gathered trillium roots the Girl made drawings of the plant
and learned its commercial value. She drew lady's slipper and Solomon's
seal, and learned their uses and prices; and carefully traced wild
ginger leaves while nibbling the aromatic root. It was difficult
to keep from protesting when the work carried them around the lake
shore and to the pokeberry beds, for the colour of these she loved.
It required careful explanation as to the value of the roots and
seeds as blood purifier, and the argument that in a few more days
the frost would level the bed, to induce her to consent to its harvesting.
But when the case was properly presented, she put aside her drawing
and stained her slender fingers gathering the seeds, and loved the
work.
The sun was golden on the lake, the birds of the upland were clustering
over reeds and rushes, for the sake of plentiful seed and convenient
water. Many of them sang fitfully, the notes of almost all of them
were melodious, and the day was a long, happy dream. There was but
little left to gather until ginseng time. For that the Harvester
had engaged several boys to help him, for the task of digging the
roots, washing and drying them, burying part of the seeds and preparing
the remainder for market seemed endless for one man to attempt.
After a full day the Harvester lay before the fire, and his head
was so close the Girl's knee that her fingers were in reach of his
hair. Every time he mended the fire he moved a little, until he
could feel the touch of her garments against him. Then he began
to plan for the winter; how they would store food for the long,
cold days, how much fuel would be required, when they would go to
the city for their winter clothing, what they would read, and how
they would work together at the drawings.
``I am almost too anxious to wait longer to get back to my carving,''
he said. ``Whoever would have thought this spring that fall would
come and find the birds talking of going, the caterpillars spinning
winter quarters, the animals holing up, me getting ready for the
cold, and your candlesticks not finished. Winter is when you really
need them. Then there is solid cheer in numbers of candles and a
roaring wood fire. The furnace is going to be a good thing to keep
the floors and the bathroom warm, but an open fire of dry, crackling
wood is the only rational source of heat in a home. You must watch
for the fairy dances on the backwall, Ruth, and learn to trace goblin
faces in the coals. Sometimes there is a panorama of temples and
trees, and you will find exquisite colour in the smoke. Dry maple
makes a lovely lavender, soft and fine as a floating veil, and damp
elm makes a blue, and hickory red and yellow. I almost can tell
which wood is burning after the bark is gone, by the smoke and flame
colour. When the little red fire fairies come out and dance on the
backwall it is fun to figure what they are celebrating. By the way,
Ruth, I have been a lamb for days. I hope you have observed! But
I would sleep a little sounder to-night if you only could give me
a hint whether that kiss is coming on at all.''
He tipped back his head to see her face, and it was glorious in
the red firelight; the big eyes never appeared so deep and dark.
The tilted head struck her hand, and her fingers ran through his
hair.
``You said to forget it,'' she reminded him, ``and then it would
come sooner.''
``Which same translated means that it is not here yet. Well, I didn't
expect it, so I am not disappointed; but begorry, I do wish it would
materialize by Christmas. I think I will work for that. Wouldn't
it make a day worth while, though? By the way, what do you want
for Christmas, Ruth?''
``A doll,'' she answered.
The Harvester laughed. He tipped his head again to see her face
and suddenly grew quiet, for it was very serious.
``I am quite in earnest,'' she said. ``I think the big dolls in
the stores are beautiful, and I never owned only a teeny little
one. All my life I've wanted a big doll as badly as I ever longed
for anything that was not absolutely necessary to keep me alive.
In fact, a doll is essential to a happy childhood. The mother instinct
is so ingrained in a girl that if she doesn't have dolls to love,
even as a baby, she is deprived of a part of her natural rights.
It's a pitiful thing to have been the little girl in the picture
who stands outside the window and gazes with longing soul at the
doll she is anxious to own and can't ever have. Harvester, I was
always that little girl. I am quite in earnest. I want a big, beautiful
doll more than anything else.''
As she talked the Girl's fingers were idly threading the Harvester's
hair. His head lightly touched her knee, and she shifted her position
to afford him a comfortable resting place. With a thrill of delight
that shook him, the man laid his head in her lap and looked into
the fire, his face glowing as a happy boy's.
``You shall have the loveliest doll that money can buy, Ruth,''
he promised. ``What else do you want?''
``A roasted goose, plum pudding, and all those horrid indigestible
things that Christmas stories always tell about; and popcorn balls,
and candy, and everything I've always wanted and never had, and
a long beautiful day with you. That's all!''
``Ruth, I'm so happy I almost wish I could go to Heaven right now
before anything occurs to spoil this,'' said the Harvester.
The wheels of a car rattled across the bridge. He whirled to his
knees, and put his arms around the Girl.
``Ruth,'' he said huskily. ``I'll wager a thousand dollars I know
what is coming. Hug me tight, quick! and give me the best kiss you
can----any old kind of a one, so you touch my lips with yours before
I've got to open that door and let in trouble.''
The Girl threw her arms around his neck and with the imprint of
her lips warm on his the Harvester crossed the room, and his heart
dropped from the heights with a thud. He stepped out, closing the
door behind him, and crossing the veranda, passed down the walk.
He recognized the car as belonging to a garage in Onabasha, and
in it sat two men, one of whom spoke.
``Are you David Langston?''
``Yes,'' said the Harvester.
``Did you send a couple of photographs to a New York detective agency
a few days ago with inquiries concerning some parties you wanted
located?''
``I did,'' said the Harvester. ``But I was not expecting any such
immediate returns.''
``Your questions touched on a case that long has been in the hands
of the agency, and they telegraphed the parties. The following day
the people had a letter, giving them the information they required,
from another source.''
``That is where Uncle Henry showed his fine Spencerian hand,'' commented
the Harvester. ``It always will be a great satisfaction that I got
my fist in first.''
``Is Miss Jameson here?''
``No,'' said the Harvester. ``My wife is at home. Her surname was
Ruth Jameson, but we have been married since June. Did you wish
to speak with Mrs. Langston?''
``I came for that purpose. My name is Kennedy. I am the law partner
and the closest friend of the young lady's grandfather. News of
her location has prostrated her grandmother so that he could not
leave her, and I was sent to bring the young woman.''
``Oh!'' said the Harvester. ``Well you will have to interview her
about that. One word first. She does not know that I sent those
pictures and made that inquiry. One other word. She is just recovering
from a case of fever, induced by wrong conditions of life before
I met her. She is not so strong as she appears. Understand you are
not to be abrupt. Go very gently! Her feelings and health must be
guarded with extreme care.''
The Harvester opened the door, and as she saw the stranger, the
Girl's eyes widened, and she arose and stood waiting.
``Ruth,'' said the Harvester, ``this is a man who has been making
quite a search for you, and at last he has you located.''
The Harvester went to the Girl's side, and put a reinforcing arm
around her.
``Perhaps he brings you some news that will make life most interesting
and very lovely for you. Will you shake hands with Mr. Kennedy?''
The Girl suddenly straightened to unusual height.
``I will hear why he has been making `quite a search for me,' and
on whose authority he has me `located,' first,'' she said.
A diabolical grin crossed the face of the Harvester, and he took
heart.
``Then please be seated, Mr. Kennedy,'' he said, ``and we will talk
over the matter. As I understand, you are a representative of my
wife's people.''
The Girl stared at the Harvester.
``Take your chair, Ruth, and meet this as a matter of course,''
he advised casually. ``You always have known that some day it must
come. You couldn't look in the face of those photographs of your
mother in her youth and not realize that somewhere hearts were aching
and breaking, and brains were busy in a search for her.''
The Girl stood rigid.
``I want it distinctly understood,'' she said, ``that I have no
use on earth for my mother's people. They come too late. I absolutely
refuse to see or to hold any communication with them.''
``But young lady, that is very arbitrary!'' cried Mr. Kennedy. ``You
don't understand! They are a couple of old people, and they are
slowly dying of broken hearts!''
``Not so badly broken or they wouldn't die slowly,'' commented the
Girl grimly. ``The heart that was really broken was my mother's.
The torture of a starved, overworked body and hopeless brain was
hers. There was nothing slow about her death, for she went out with
only half a life spent, and much of that in acute agony, because
of their negligence. David, you often have said that this is my
home. I choose to take you at your word. Will you kindly tell this
man that he is not welcome in this house, and I wish him to leave
it at once?''
The Harvester stepped back, and his face grew very white.
``I can't, Ruth,'' he said gently.
``Why not?''
``Because I brought him here.''
``You brought him here! You! David, are you crazy? You!''
``It is through me that he came.''
The Girl caught the mantel for support.
``Then I stand alone again,'' she said. ``Harvester, I had thought
you were on my side.''
``I am at your feet,'' said the man in a broken voice. ``Ruth dear,
will you let me explain?''
``There is only one explanation, and with what you have done for
me fresh in my mind, I can't put it into words.''
``Ruth, hear me!''
``I must! You force me! But before you speak understand this: Not
now, or through all eternity, do I forgive the inexcusable neglect
that drove my mother to what I witnessed and was helpless to avert.''
``My dear! My dear!'' said the Harvester, ``I had hoped the woods
had done a more perfect work in your heart. Your mother is lying
in state now, Girl, safe from further suffering of any kind; and
if I read aright, her tired face and shrivelled frame were eloquent
of forgiveness. Ruth dear, if she so loved them that her heart was
broken and she died for them, think what they are suffering! Have
some mercy on them.''
``Get this very clear, David,'' said the Girl. ``She died of hunger
for food. Her heart was not so broken that she couldn't have lived
a lifetime, and got much comfort out of it, if her body had not
lacked sustenance. Oh I was so happy a minute ago. David, why did
you do this thing?''
The Harvester picked up the Girl, placed her in a chair, and knelt
beside her with his arms around her.
``Because of the PAIN IN THE WORLD, Ruth,'' he said simply. ``Your
mother is sleeping sweetly in the long sleep that knows neither
anger nor resentment; and so I was forced to think of a gentle-faced,
little old mother whose heart is daily one long ache, whose eyes
are dim with tears, and a proud, broken old man who spends his time
trying to comfort her, when his life is as desolate as hers.''
``How do you know so wonderfully much about their aches and broken
hearts?''
``Because I have seen their faces when they were happy, Ruth, and
so I know what suffering would do to them. There were pictures of
them and letters in the bottom of that old trunk. I searched it
the other night and found them; and by what life has done to your
mother and to you, I can judge what it is now bringing them. Never
can you be truly happy, Ruth, until you have forgiven them, and
done what you can to comfort the remainder of their lives. I did
it because of the pain in the world, my girl.''
``What about my pain?''
``The only way on earth to cure it is through forgiveness. That,
and that only, will ease it all away, and leave you happy and free
for life and love. So long as you let this rancour eat in your heart,
Ruth, you are not, and never can be, normal. You must forgive them,
dear, hear what they have to say, and give them the comfort of seeing
what they can discover of her in you. Then your heart will be at
rest at last, your soul free, you can take your rightful place in
life, and the love you crave will awaken in your heart. Ruth, dear
you are the acme of gentleness and justice. Be just and gentle now!
Give them their chance! My heart aches, and always will ache for
the pain you have known, but nursing and brooding over it will not
cure it. It is going to take a heroic operation to cut it out, and
I chose to be the surgeon. You have said that I once saved your
body from pain Ruth, trust me now to free your soul.''
``What do you want?''
``I want you to speak kindly to this man, who through my act has
come here, and allow him to tell you why he came. Then I want you
to do the kind and womanly thing your duty suggests that you should.''
``David, I don t understand you!''
``That is no difference,'' said the Harvester. ``The point is, do
you TRUST me?''
The Girl hesitated. ``Of course I do,'' she said at last.
``Then hear what your grandfather's friend has come to say for him,
and forget yourself in doing to others as you would have them----really,
Ruth, that is all of religion or of life worth while. Go on, Mr.
Kennedy.''
The Harvester drew up a chair, seated himself beside the Girl, and
taking one of her hands, he held it closely and waited.
``I was sent here by my law partner and my closest friend, Mr. Alexander
Herron, of Philadelphia,'' said the stranger. ``Both he and Mrs.
Herron were bitterly opposed to your mother's marriage, because
they knew life and human nature, and there never is but one end
to men such as she married.''
``You may omit that,'' said the Girl coldly. ``Simply state why
you are here.''
``In response to an inquiry from your husband concerning the originals
of some photographs he sent to a detective agency in New York. They
have had the case for years, and recognizing the pictures as a clue,
they telegraphed Mr. Herron. The prospect of news after years of
fruitless searching so prostrated Mrs. Herron that he dared not
leave her, and he sent me.''
``Kindly tell me this,'' said the Girl. ``Where were my mother's
father and mother for the four years immediately following her marriage?''
``They went to Europe to avoid the humiliation of meeting their
friends. There, in Italy, Mrs. Herron developed a fever, and it
was several years before she could be brought home. She retired
from society, and has been confined to her room ever since. When
they could return, a search was instituted at once for their daughter,
but they never have been able to find a trace. They have hunted
through every eastern city they thought might contain her.''
``And overlooked a little insignificant place like Chicago, of course.''
``I myself conducted a personal search there, and visited the home
of every Jameson in the directory or who had mail at the office
or of whom I could get a clue of any sort.''
``I don't suppose two women in a little garret room would be in
the directory, and there never was any mail.''
``Did your mother ever appeal to her parents?''
``She did,'' said the Girl. ``She admitted that she had been wrong,
asked their forgiveness, and begged to go home. That was in the
second year of her marriage, and she was in Cleveland. Afterward
she went to Chicago, from there she wrote again.''
``Her father and mother were in Italy fighting for the mother's
life, two years after that. It is very easy to become lost in a
large city. Criminals do it every day and are never found, even
with the best detectives on their trail. I am very sorry about this.
My friends will be broken-hearted. At any time they would have been
more than delighted to have had their daughter return. A letter
on the day following the message from the agency brought news that
she was dead, and now their only hope for any small happiness at
the close of years of suffering lies with you. I was sent to plead
with you to return with me at once and make them a visit. Of course,
their home is yours. You are their only heir, and they would be
very happy if you were free, and would remain permanently with them.''
``How do they know I will not be like the father they so detested?''
``They had sufficient cause to dislike him. They have every reason
to love and welcome you. They are consumed with anxiety. Will you
come?''
``No. This is for me to decide. I do not care for them or their
property. Always they have failed me when my distress was unspeakable.
Now there is only one thing I ask of life, more than my husband
has given me, and if that lay in his power I would have it. You
may go back and tell them that I am perfectly happy. I have everything
I need. They can give me nothing I want, not even their love. Perhaps,
sometime, I will go to see them for a few days, if David will go
with me.''
``Young woman, do you realize that you are issuing a death sentence?''
asked the lawyer gently.
``It is a just one.''
``I do not believe your husband agrees with you. I know I do not.
Mrs. Herron is a tiny old lady, with a feeble spark of vitality
left; and with all her strength she is clinging to life, and pleading
with it to give her word of her only child before she goes out unsatisfied.
She knows that her daughter is gone, and now her hopes are fastened
on you. If for only a few days, you certainly must go with me.''
``I will not!''
The lawyer turned to the Harvester.
``She will be ready to start with you to-morrow morning, on the
first train north,'' said the Harvester. ``We will meet you at the
station at eight.''
``I----I am afraid I forgot to tell my driver to wait.''
``You mean your instructions were not to let the Girl out of your
sight,'' said the Harvester. ``Very well! We have comfortable rooms.
I will show you to one. Please come this way.''
The Harvester led the guest to the lake room and arranged for the
night. Then he went to the telephone and sent a message to an address
he had been furnished, asking for an immediate reply. It went to
Philadelphia and contained a description of the lawyer, and asked
if he had been sent by Mr. Herron to escort his grand- daughter
to his home. When the Harvester returned to the living-room the
Girl, white and defiant, waited before the fire. He knelt beside
her and put his arms around her, but she repulsed him; so he sat
on the rug and looked at her.
``No wonder you felt sure you knew what that was!'' she cried bitterly.
``Ruth, if you will allow me to lift the bottom of that old trunk,
and if you will read any one of the half dozen letters I read, you
will forgive me, and begin making preparations to go.''
``It's a wonder you don't hold them before me and force me to read
them,'' she said.
``Don't say anything you will be sorry for after you are gone, dear.''
``I'm not going!''
``Oh yes you are!''
``Why?''
``Because it is right that you should, and right is inexorable.
Also, because I very much wish you to; you will do it for me.''
``Why do you want me to go?''
``I have three strong reasons: First, as I told you, it is the only
thing that will cleanse your heart of bitterness and leave it free
for the tenanting of a great and holy love. Next, I think they honestly
made every effort to find your mother, and are now growing old in
despair you can lighten, and you owe it to them and yourself to
do it. Lastly, for my sake. I've tried everything I know, Ruth,
and I can't make you love me, or bring you to a realizing sense
of it if you do. So before I saw that chest I had planned to harvest
my big crop, and try with all my heart while I did it, and if love
hadn't come then, I meant to get some one to stay with you, and
I was going away to give you a free perspective for a time. I meant
to plead that I needed a few weeks with a famous chemist I know
to prepare me better for my work. My real motive was to leave you,
and let you see if absence could do anything for me in your heart.
You've been very nearly the creature of my hands for months, my
girl; whatever any one else may do, you're bound to miss me mightily,
and I figured that with me away, perhaps you could solve the problem
alone I seem to fail in helping you with. This is only a slight
change of plans. You are going in my stead. I will harvest the ginseng
and cure it, and then, if you are not at home, and the loneliness
grows unbearable, I will take the chemistry course, until you decide
when you will come, if ever.''
`` `If ever?' ''
``Yes,'' said the Harvester. ``I am growing accustomed to facing
big propositions----I will not dodge this. The faces of the three
of your people I have seen prove refinement. Their clothing indicates
wealth. These long, lonely years mean that they will shower you
with every outpouring of loving, hungry hearts. They will keep you
if they can, my dear. I do not blame them. The life I propose for
you is one of work, mostly for others, and the reward, in great
part, consists of the joy in the soul of the creator of things that
help in the world. I realize that you will find wealth, luxury,
and lavish love. I know that I may lose you forever, and if it is
right and best for you, I hope I will. I know exactly what I am
risking, but I yet say, go.''
``I don't see how you can, and love me as you prove you do.''
``That is a little streak of the inevitableness of nature that the
forest has ground into my soul. I'd rather cut off my right hand
than take yours with it, in the parting that will come in the morning;
but you are going, and I am sending you. So long as I am shaped
like a human being, it is in me to dignify the possession of a vertical
spine by acting as nearly like a man as I know how. I insist that
you are my wife, because it crucifies me to think otherwise. I tell
you to-night, Ruth, you are not and never have been. You are free
as air. You married me without any love for me in your heart, and
you pretended none. It was all my doing. If I find that I was wrong,
I will free you without a thought of results to me. I am a secondary
proposition. I thought then that you were alone and helpless, and
before the Almighty, I did the best I could. But I know now that
you are entitled to the love of relatives, wealth, and high social
position, no doubt. If I allowed the passion in my heart to triumph
over the reason of my brain, and worked on your feelings and tied
you to the woods, without knowing but that you might greatly prefer
that other life you do not know, but to which you are entitled,
I would go out and sink myself in Loon Lake.''
``David, I love you. I do not want to go. Please, please let me
remain with you.''
``Not if you could say that realizing what it means, and give me
the kiss right now I would stake my soul to win! Not by any bribe
you can think of or any allurement you can offer. It is right that
you go to those suffering old people. It is right you know what
you are refusing for me, before you renounce it. It is right you
take the position to which you are entitled, until you understand
thoroughly whether this suits you better. When you know that life
as well as this, the people you will meet as intimately as me, then
you can decide for all time, and I can look you in the face with
honest, unwavering eye; and if by any chance your heart is in the
woods, and you prefer me and the cabin to what they have to offer----to
all eternity your place here is vacant, Ruth. My love is waiting
for you; and if you come under those conditions, I never can have
any regret. A clear conscience is worth restraining passion a few
months to gain, and besides, I always have got the fact to face
that when you say `I love,' and when I say `I love,' it means two
entirely different things. When you realize that the love of man
for woman, and woman for man, is a thing that floods the heart,
brain, soul, and body with a wonderful and all-pervading ecstasy,
and if I happen to be the man who makes you realize it, then come
tell me, and we will show God and His holy angels what earth means
by the Heaven inspired word, `radiance.' ''
``David, there never will be any other man like you.''
``The exigencies of life must develop many a finer and better.''
``You still refuse me? You yet believe I do not love you?''
``Not with the love I ask, my girl. But if I did not believe it
was germinating in your heart, and that it would come pouring over
me in a torrent some glad day, I doubt if I could allow you to go,
Ruth! I am like any other man in selfishness and in the passions
of the body.''
``Selfishness! You haven't an idea what it means,'' said the Girl.
``And what you call love----there I haven't. But I know how to appreciate
you, and you may be positively sure that it will be only a few days
until I will come back to you.''
``But I don't want you until you can bring the love I crave. I am
sending you to remain until that time, Ruth.''
``But it may be months, Man!''
``Then stay months.''
``But it may be----''
``It may be never! Then remain forever. That will be proof positive
that your happiness does not lie in my hands.''
``Why should I not consider you as you do me?''
``Because I love you, and you do not love me.''
``You are cruel to yourself and to me. You talk about the pain in
the world. What about the pain in my heart right now? And if I know
you in the least, one degree more would make you cry aloud for mercy.
Oh David, are we of no consideration at all?''
The muscles of the Harvester's face twisted an instant.
``This is where we lop off the small branches to grow perfect fruit
later. This is where we do evil that good may result. This is where
we suffer to-night in order we may appreciate fully the joy of love's
dawning. If I am causing you pain, forgive me, dear heart. I would
give my life to prevent it, but I am powerless. It is right! We
cannot avoid doing it, if we ever would be happy.''
He picked up the Girl, and held her crushed in his arms a long time.
Then he set her inside her door and said, ``Lay out what you want
to take and I will help you pack, so that you can get some sleep.
We must be ready early in the morning.''
When the clothing to be worn was selected, the new trunk packed,
and all arrangements made, the Girl sat in his arms before the fire
as he had held her when she was ill, and then he sent her to bed
and went to the lake shore to fight it out alone. Only God and the
stars and the faithful Belshazzar saw the agony of a strong man
in his extremity.
Near dawn he heard the tinkle of the bell and went to receive his
message and order a car for morning. Then he returned to the merciful
darkness of night, and paced the driveway until light came peeping
over the tree tops. He prepared breakfast and an hour later put
the Girl on the train, and stood watching it until the last rift
of smoke curled above the spires of the city.