CHAPTER VI
TO LABOUR AND TO WAIT
We have reached the `beginning of the end,' Ajax!'' said the Harvester,
as the peacock ceased screaming and came to seek food from his hand.
``We have seen the Girl. Now we must locate her and convince her
that Medicine Woods is her happy home. I feel quite equal to the
latter proposition, Ajax, but how the nation to find her sticks
me. I can't make a search so open that she will know and resent
it. She must have all the consideration ever paid the most refined
woman, but she also has got to be found, and that speedily. When
I remember that look on her face, as if horrors were snatching at
her skirts, it takes all the grit out of me. I feel weak as a sapling.
And she needs all my strength. I've simply got to brace up. I'll
work a while and then perhaps I can think.''
So the Harvester began the evening routine. He thought he did not
want anything to eat, but when he opened the cupboard and smelled
the food he learned that he was a hungry man and he cooked and ate
a good supper. He put away everything carefully, for even the kitchen
was dainty and fresh and he wanted to keep it so for her. When he
finished he went into the living-room, stood before the fireplace,
and studied the collection of half-finished candlesticks grouped
upon it. He picked up several and examined them closely, but realized
that he could not bind himself to the exactions of carving that
evening. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked her door. Every
day he had been going there to improve upon his work for her, and
he loved the room, the outlook from its windows; he was very proud
of the furniture he had made. There was no paper- thin covering
on her chairs, bed, and dressing table. The tops, seats, and posts
were solid wood, worth hundreds of dollars for veneer.
To-night he folded his arms and stood on the sill hesitating. While
she was a dream, he had loved to linger in her room. Now that she
was reality, he paused. In one golden May day the place had become
sacred. Since he had seen the Girl that room was so hers that he
was hesitating about entering because of this fact. It was as if
the tall, slender form stood before the chest of drawers or sat
at the dressing table and he did not dare enter unless he were welcome.
Softly he closed the door and went away. He wandered to the dry-
house and turned the bark and roots on the trays, but the air stifled
him and he hurried out. He tried to work in the packing room, but
walls smothered him and again he sought the open.
He espied a bundle of osier-bound, moss-covered ferns that he had
found in the woods, and brought the shovel to transplant them; but
the work worried him, and he hurried through with it. Then he looked
for something else to do and saw an ax. He caught it up and with
lusty strokes began swinging it. When he had chopped wood until
he was very tired he went to bed. Sleep came to the strong, young
frame and he awoke in the morning refreshed and hopeful.
He wondered why he had bothered Doctor Carey. The Harvester felt
able that morning to find his Dream Girl without assistance before
the day was over. It was merely a matter of going to the city and
locating a woman. Yesterday, it had been a question of whether she
really existed. To-day, he knew. Yesterday, it had meant a search
possibly as wide as earth to find her. To-day, it was narrowed to
only one location so small, compared with Chicago, that the Harvester
felt he could sift its population with his fingers, and pick her
from others at his first attempt. If she were visiting there probably
she would rest during the night, and be on the streets to-day.
When he remembered her face he doubted it. He decided to spend part
of the time on the business streets and the remainder in the residence
portions of the city. Because it was uncertain when he would return,
everything was fed a double portion, and Betsy was left at a livery
stable with instructions to care for her until he came. He did not
know where the search would lead him. For several hours he slowly
walked the business district and then ranged farther, but not a
sight of her. He never had known that Onabasha was so large. On
its crowded streets he did not feel that he could sift the population
through his fingers, nor could he open doors and search houses without
an excuse.
Some small boys passed him eating bananas, and the Harvester looked
at his watch and was amazed to find that the day had advanced until
two o'clock in the afternoon. He was tired and hungry. He went into
a restaurant and ordered lunch; as he waited a girl serving tables
smiled at him. Any other time the Harvester would have returned
at least a pleasant look, and gone his way. To-day he scowled at
her, and ate in hurried discomfort. On the streets again, he had
no idea where to go and so he went to the hospital.
``I expected you early this morning,'' was the greeting of Doctor
Carey. ``Where have you been and what have you done?''
``Nothing,'' said the Harvester. ``I was so sure she would be on
the streets I just watched, but I didn't see her.''
``We will go to the depot,'' said the doctor. ``The first thing
is to keep her from leaving town.''
They arranged with the ticket agents, expressmen, telegraphers,
and, as they left, the Harvester stopped and tipped the train caller,
offering further reward worth while if he would find the Girl.
``Now we will go to the police station,'' said the doctor.
``I'll see the chief and have him issue a general order to his men
to watch for her, but if I were you I'd select a half dozen in the
down town district, and give them a little tip with a big promise!''
``Good Lord! How I hate this,'' groaned the Harvester.
``Want to find her by yourself?'' questioned his friend.
``Yes,'' said the Harvester, ``I do! And I would, if it hadn't been
for her ghastly face. That drives me to resort to any measures.
The probabilities are that she is lying sick somewhere, and if her
comfort depends on the purse that dressed her, she will suffer.
Doc, do you know how awful this is?''
``I know that you've got a great imagination. If the woods make
all men as sensitive as you are, those who have business to transact
should stay out of them. Take a common-sense view. Look at this
as I do. If she was strong enough to travel in a day coach from
Chicago; she can't be so very ill to-day. Leaving life by the inch
isn't that easy. She will be alive this time next year, whether
you find her or not. The chances are that her stress was mental
anyway, and trouble almost never overcomes any one.''
``You, a doctor and say that!''
``Oh, I mean instantaneously----in a day! Of course if it grinds
away for years! But youth doesn't allow it to do that. It throws
it off, and grows hopeful and happy again. She won't die; put that
out of your mind. If I were you I would go home now and go straight
on with my work, trusting to. the machinery you have set in motion.
I know most of the men with whom we have talked. They will locate
her in a week or less. It's their business. It isn't yours. It's
your job to be ready for her, and have enough ahead to support her
when they find her. Try to realize that there are now a dozen men
on hunt for her, and trust them. Go back to your work, and I will
come full speed in the motor when the first man sights her. That
ought to satisfy you. I've told all of them to call me at the hospital,
and I will tell my assistant what to do in case a call comes while
I am away. Straighten your face! Go back to Medicine Woods and harvest
your crops, and before you know it she will be located. Then you
can put on your Sunday clothes and show yourself, and see if you
can make her take notice.''
``Idiot!'' exclaimed the Harvester, but he started home. When he
arrived he attended to his work and then sat down to think.
``Doc is right,'' was his ultimate conclusion. ``She can't leave
the city, she can't move around in it, she can't go anywhere, without
being seen. There's one more point: I must tell Carey to post all
the doctors to report if they have such a call. That's all I can
think of. I'll go to-night, and then I'll look over the ginseng
for parasites, and to-morrow I'll dive into the late spring growth
and work until I haven't time to think. I've let cranesbill get
a week past me now, and it can't be dispensed with.''
So the following morning, when the Harvester had completed his work
at the cabin and barn and breakfasted, he took a mattock and a big
hempen bag, and followed the path to the top of the hill. As it
ran along the lake bank he descended on the other side to several
acres of cleared land, where he raised corn for his stock, potatoes,
and coarser garden truck, for which there was not space in the smaller
enclosure close the cabin. Around the edges of these fields, and
where one of them sloped toward the lake, he began grubbing a variety
of grass having tall stems already over a foot in height at half
growth. From each stem waved four or five leaves of six or eight
inches length and the top showed forming clusters of tiny spikelets.
``I am none too early for you,'' he muttered to himself as he ran
the mattock through the rich earth, lifting the long, tough, jointed
root stalks of pale yellow, from every section of which broke sprays
of fine rootlets. ``None too early for you, and as you are worth
only seven cents a pound, you couldn't be considered a `get- rich-quick'
expedient, so I'll only stop long enough with you to gather what
I think my customers will order, and amass a fortune a little later
picking mullein flowers at seventy-five cents a pound. What a crop
I've got coming!''
The Harvester glanced ahead, where in the cleared soil of the bank
grew large plants with leaves like yellow-green felt and tall bloom
stems rising. Close them flourished other species requiring dry
sandy soil, that gradually changed as it approached the water until
it became covered with rank abundance of short, wiry grass, half
the blades of which appeared red. Numerous everywhere he could see
the grayish-white leaves of Parnassus grass. As the season advanced
it would lift heart- shaped velvet higher, and before fall the stretch
of emerald would be starred with white-faced, green-striped flowers.
``Not a prettier sight on earth,'' commented the Harvester, ``than
just swale wire grass in September making a fine, thick background
to set off those delicate starry flowers on their slender stems.
I must remember to bring her to see that.''
His eyes followed the growth to the water. As the grass drew closer
moisture it changed to the rank, sweet, swamp variety, then came
bulrushes, cat-tails, water smartweed, docks, and in the water blue
flag lifted folded buds; at its feet arose yellow lily leaves and
farther out spread the white. As the light struck the surface the
Harvester imagined he could see the little green buds several inches
below. Above all arose wild rice he had planted for the birds. The
red wings swayed on the willows and tilted on every stem that would
bear their weight, singing their melodious half-chanted notes, ``O-ka-lee!''
Beneath them the ducks gobbled, splashed, and chattered; grebe and
coot voices could be distinguished; king rails at times flashed
into sight and out again; marsh wrens scolded and chattered; occasionally
a kingfisher darted around the lake shore, rolling his rattling
cry and flashing his azure coat and gleaming white collar. On a
hollow tree in the woods a yellow hammer proved why he was named,
because he carpentered industriously to enlarge the entrance to
the home he was excavating in a dead tree; and sailing over the
lake and above the woods in grace scarcely surpassed by any, a lonesome
turkey buzzard awaited his mate's decision as to which hollow log
was most suitable for their home.
The Harvester stuffed the grass roots in the bag until it would
hold no more and stood erect to wipe his face, for the sun was growing
warm. As he drew his handkerchief across his brow, the south wind
struck him with enough intensity to attract attention. Instantly
the Harvester removed his hat, rolled it up, and put it into his
pocket. He stood an instant delighting in the wind and then spoke.
``Allow me to express my most fervent thanks for your kindness,''
he said. ``I thought probably you would take that message, since
it couldn't mean much to you, and it meant all the world to me.
I thought you would carry it, but, I confess, I scarcely expected
the answer so soon. The only thing that could make me more grateful
to you would be to know exactly where she is: but you must understand
that it's like a peep into Heaven to have her existence narrowed
to one place. I'm bound to be able to say inside a few days, she
lives at number----I don't know yet, on street---- I'll find out
soon, in the closest city, Onabasha. And I know why you brought
her, South Wind. If ever a girl's cheeks need fanning with your
breezes, and painting with sun kisses, I wouldn't mind, since this
is strictly private, adding a few of mine; if ever any one needed
flowers, birds, fresh air, water, and rest! Good Lord, South Wind,
did you ever reach her before you carried that message? I think
not! But Onabasha isn't so large. You and the sun should get your
innings there. I do hope she is not trying to work! I can attend
to that; and so there will be more time when she is found, I'd better
hustle now.''
He picked up the bag and returned to the dry-house, where he carefully
washed the roots and spread them on the trays. Then he took the
same bag and mattock and going through the woods in the opposite
direction he came to a heavy growth in a cleared space of high ground.
The bloom heads were forming and the plant was half matured. The
Harvester dug a cylindrical, tapering root, wrinkling lengthwise,
wiped it clean, broke and tasted it. He made a wry face. He stood
examining the white wood with its brown-red bark and, deciding that
it was in prime condition, be began digging the plants. It was common
wayside ``Bouncing Bet,'' but the Harvester called it ``soapwort.''
He took every other plant in his way across the bed, and when he
digged a heavy load he carried it home, stripped the leaves, and
spread them on trays, while the roots he topped, washed, and put
to dry also. Then he whistled for Belshazzar and went to lunch.
As he passed down the road to the cabin his face was a study of
conflicting emotions, and his eyes had a far away appearance of
deep thought. Every tree of his stretch of forest was rustling fresh
leaves to shelter him; dogwood, wild crab, and hawthorn offered
their flowers; earth held up her tribute in painted trillium faces,
spring beauties, and violets, blue, white, and yellow. Mosses, ferns,
and lichen decorated the path; all the birds greeted him in friendship,
and sang their purest melodies. The sky was blue, the sun bright,
the air perfumed for him; Belshazzar, always true to his name, protected
every footstep; Ajax, the shimmering green and gold wonder, came
up the hill to meet him; the white doves circled above his head.
Stumbling half blindly, the Harvester passed unheeding among them,
and went into the cabin. When he came out he stood a long time in
deep study, but at last he returned to the woods.
``Perhaps they will have found her before night,'' he said. ``I'll
harvest the cranesbill yet, because it's growing late for it, and
then I'll see how they are coming on. Maybe they'd know her if they
met her, and maybe they wouldn't. She may wear different clothing,
and freshen up after her trip. She might have been car sick, as
Doc suggested, and appear very different when she feels better.''
He skirted the woods around the northeast end and stopped at a big
bed of exquisite growth. Tall, wiry stems sprang upward almost two
feet in height; leaves six inches across were cut in ragged lobes
almost to the base, and here and there, enough to colour the entire
bed a delicate rose or sometimes a violet purple, the first flowers
were unfolding. The Harvester lifted a root and tasted it.
``No doubt about you being astringent,'' he muttered. ``You have
enough tannin in you to pucker a mushroom. By the way, those big,
corn-cobby fellows should spring up with the next warm rain, and
the hotels and restaurants always pay high prices. I must gather
a few bushels.''
He looked over the bed of beautiful wild alum and hesitated.
``I vow I hate to touch you,'' he said. ``You are a picture right
now, and in a week you will be a miracle. It seems a shame to tear
up a plant for its roots, just at flowering time, and I can't avoid
breaking down half I don't take, getting the ones I do. I wish you
were not so pretty! You are one of the colours I love most. You
remind me of red-bud, blazing star, and all those exquisite magenta
shades that poets, painters, and the Almighty who made them love
so much they hesitate about using them lavishly. You are so delicate
and graceful and so modest. I wish she could see you! I got to stop
this or I won't be able to lift a root. I never would if the ten
cents a pound I'll get out of it were the only consideration.''
The Harvester gripped the mattock and advanced to the bed. ``What
I must be thinking is that you are indispensable to the sick folks.
The steady demand for you proves your value, and of course, humanity
comes first, after all. If I remain in the woods alone much longer
I'll get to the place where I'm not so sure that it does. Seems
as if animals, birds, flowers, trees, and insects as well, have
their right to life also. But it's for me to remember the sick folks!
If I thought the Girl would get some of it now, I could overturn
the bed with a stout heart. If any one ever needed a tonic, I think
she does. Maybe some of this will reach her. If it does, I hope
it will make her cheeks just the lovely pink of the bloom. Oh Lord!
If only she hadn't appeared so sick and frightened! What is there
in all this world of sunshine to make a girl glance around her like
that? I wish I knew! Maybe they will have found her by night.''
The Harvester began work on the bed, but he knelt and among the
damp leaves from the spongy black earth he lifted the roots with
his fingers and carefully straightened and pressed down the plants
he did not take. This required more time than usual, but his heart
was so sore he could not be rough with anything, most of all a flower.
So he harvested the wild alum by hand, and heaped large stacks of
roots around the edges of the bed. Often he paused as he worked
and on his knees stared through the forest as if he hoped perhaps
she would realize his longing for her, and come to him in the wood
as she had across the water. Over and over he repeated, ``Perhaps
they will find her by night!'' and that so intensified the meaning
that once he said it aloud. His face clouded and grew dark.
``Dealish nice business!'' he said. ``I am here in the woods digging
flower roots, and a gang of men in the city are searching for the
girl I love. If ever a job seemed peculiarly a man's own, it appears
this would be. What business has any other man spying after my woman?
Why am I not down there doing my own work, as I always have done
it? Who's more likely to find her than I am? It seems as if there
would be an instinct that would lead me straight to her, if I'd
go. And you can wager I'll go fast enough.''
The Harvester appeared as if he would start that instant, but with
lips closely shut he finally forced himself to go on with his work.
When he had rifled the bed, and uprooted all he cared to take during
one season, he carried the roots to the lake shore below the curing
house, and spread them on a platform he had built. He stepped into
his boat and began dashing pails of water over them and using a
brush. As he worked he washed away the woody scars of last year's
growth, and the tiny buds appearing for the coming season.
Belshazzar sat on the opposite bank and watched the operation; and
Ajax came down and, flying to a dead stump, erected and slowly waved
his train to attract the sober-faced man who paid no heed. He left
the roots to drain while he prepared supper, then placed them on
the trays, now filled to overflowing, and was glad he had finished.
He could not cure anything else at present if he wanted to. He was
as far advanced as he had been at the same time the previous year.
Then he dressed neatly and locking the Girl's room, and leaving
Belshazzar to protect it, he went to Onabasha.
``Bravo!'' cried Doctor Carey as the Harvester entered his office.
``You are heroic to wait all day for news. How much stuff have you
gathered?''
``Three crops. How many missing women have you located?''
The doctor laughed. There was no sign of a smile on the face of
the Harvester.
``You didn't really expect her to come to light the first day? That
would be too easy! We can't find her in a minute.''
``It will be no surprise to me if you can't find her at all. I am
not expecting another man to do what I don't myself.''
``You are not hunting her. You are harvesting the woods. The men
you employ are to find her.''
``Maybe I am, and maybe I am not,'' said the Harvester slowly. ``To
me it appears to be a poor stick of a man who coolly proceeds with
money making, and trusts to men who haven't even seen her to search
for the girl he loves. I think a few hours of this is about all
my patience will endure.''
``What are you going to do?''
``I don't know,'' said the Harvester. ``But you can bank on one
thing sure----I'm going to do something! I've had my fill of this.
Thank you for all you've done, and all you are going to do. My head
is not clear enough yet to decide anything with any sense, but maybe
I'll hit on something soon. I'm for the streets for a while.''
``Better go home and go to bed. You seem very tired.''
``I am,'' said the Harvester. ``The only way to endure this is to
work myself down. I'm all right, and I'll be careful, but I rather
think I'll find her myself.''
``Better go on with your work as we planned.''
``I'll think about it,'' said the Harvester as he went out.
Until he was too tired to walk farther he slowly paced the streets
of the city, and then followed the home road through the valley
and up the hill to Medicine Woods. When he came to Singing Water,
Belshazzar heard his steps on the bridge, and came bounding to meet
him. The Harvester stretched himself on a seat and turned his face
to the sky. It was a deep, dark-blue bowl, closely set with stars,
and a bright moon shed a soft May radiance on the young earth. The
lake was flooded with light, and the big trees of the forest crowning
the hill were silver coroneted. The unfolding leaves had hidden
the new cabin from the bridge, but the driveway shone white, and
already the upspringing bushes hedged it in. Insects were humming
lazily in the perfumed night air, and across the lake a courting
whip-poor-will was explaining to his sweetheart just how much and
why he loved her. A few bats were wavering in air hunting insects,
and occasionally an owl or a nighthawk crossed the lake. Killdeer
were glorying in the moonlight and night flight, and cried in pure,
clear notes as they sailed over the water. The Harvester was tired
and filled with unrest as he stretched on the bridge, but the longer
he lay the more the enfolding voices comforted him. All of them
were waiting and working out their lives to the legitimate end;
there was nothing else for him to do. He need not follow instinct
or profit by chance. He was a man; he could plan and reason.
The air grew balmy and some big, soft clouds swept across the moon.
The Harvester felt the dampness of rising dew, and went to the cabin.
He looked at it long in the moonlight and told himself that he could
see how much the plants, vines, and ferns had grown since the previous
night. Without making a light, he threw himself on the bed in the
outdoor room, and lay looking through the screening at the lake
and sky. He was working his brain to think of some manner in which
to start a search for the Dream Girl that would have some probability
of success to recommend it, but he could settle on no feasible plan.
At last he fell asleep, and in the night soft rain wet his face.
He pulled an oilcloth sheet over the bed, and lay breathing deeply
of the damp, perfumed air as he again slept. In the morning brilliant
sunshine awoke him and he arose to find the earth steaming.
``If ever there was a perfect mushroom day!'' he said to Belshazzar.
``We must hurry and feed the stock and ourselves and gather some.
They mean real money.''