"I thought perhaps you could take a piece of paper and the pencils with you, and secure an outline in your room. It need not be worked up with all the detail in this. Merely a skeleton sketch would do. Could I leave it at the house or send it with some one?"
"No! Oh no!" she cried. "Leave it here. Put it in a box in the bushes where I hid the books.
What are you going to do with these things?"
"Hide them in the thicket and scatter leaves over them."
"What if it rains?"
"I have thought of that. I brought a few yards of oilcloth to-day and they will be safe and dry if it pours."
"Good!" she said. "Then if the moth comes out you bring it, and if I am not here, put it under the cloth and I will run up some time in the afternoon. But if I were you, I would not spread the rug until you know if I can remain. I have to steal every minute Iam away, and any day uncle takes a notion to stay at home I dare not come."
"Try to come to-morrow. I am going to bring some medicine for your aunt."
"Put it under the cloth if I am not here; but I will come if I can. I must go now; I have been away far too long."
The Harvester picked up one of the drug pamphlets, laid the drawing inside it, and placed it with his other books. Then he drew out his pocket book and laid a five-dollar bill on the table and began folding up the chair and putting away the things. The Girl looked at the money with eager eyes.
"Is that honestly what you would pay at the arts and crafts place?"
"It is the customary price for my patterns."
"And are you sure this is as good?"
"I can bring you some I have paid that for, and let you see for yourself that it is better."
"I wish you would!" she cried eagerly. "I need that money, and I would like to have it dearly, if I really have earned it, but I can't touch it if I have not."
"Won't you accept my word?"
"No. I will see the other drawings first, and if Ithink mine are as good, I will be glad to take the money to-morrow."
"What if you can't come?"
"Put them under the oilcloth. I watch all the time and I think Uncle Henry has trained even the boys so they don't play in the river on his land. I never see a soul here; the woods, house, and everything is desolate until he comes home and then it is like----" she paused.
"I'll say it for you," said the Harvester promptly.
"Then it is like hell."
"At its worst," supplemented the Girl. Taking pencils and a sheet of paper she went swiftly through the woods.
Before she left the shelter of the trees, the Harvester saw her busy her hands with the front of her dress, and he knew that she was concealing the drawing material.
The colour box was left, and he said things as he put it with the chair and table, covered them with the rug and oilcloth, and heaped on a layer of leaves.
Then he drove to the city and Betsy turned at the hospital corner with no interference. He could face his friend that day. Despite all discouragements he felt reassured. He was progressing. Means of communication had been established. If she did not come, he could leave a note and tell her if the moth had not emerged and how sorry he was to have missed seeing her.
"Hello, lover!" cried Doctor Carey as the Harvester entered the office. "Are you married yet?"
"No. But I'm going to be," said the Harvester with confidence.
"Have you asked her?"
"No. We are getting acquainted. She is too close to trouble, too ill, and too worried over a sick relative for me to intrude myself; it would be brutal, but it's a temptation. Doc, is there any way to compel a man to provide medical care for his wife?"
"Can he afford it?"
"Amply. Anything! Worth thousands in land and nobody knows what in money. It's Henry Jameson."
"The meanest man I ever knew. If he has a wife it's a marvel she has survived this long. Won't he provide for her?"
"I suppose he thinks he has when she has a bed to lie on and a roof to cover her. He won't supply food she can eat and medicine. He says she is lazy."
"What do you think?"
"I quote Miss Jameson. She says her aunt is slowly dying from overwork and neglect."
"David, doesn't it seem pretty good, when you say `Miss Jameson'?"
"Loveliest sound on earth, except the remainder of it."
"What's that?"
"Ruth!"
"Jove! That is a beautiful name. Ruth Langston.
It will go well, won't it?"
"Music that the birds, insects, Singing Water, the trees, and the breeze can't ever equal. I'm holding on with all my might, but it's tough, Doc. She's in such a dreadful place and position, and she needs so much.
She is sick. Can't you give me a prescription for each of them?"
"You just bet I can," said the doctor, "if you can engineer their taking them."
