"Never mind that," said the Harvester. "Tell me what you are planning. Say that you will come to the hospital for the long, perfect rest now."
"It is absolutely impossible. Don't weary me by mentioning it. I cannot."
"Will you tell me what you intend doing?"
`I must," she said, "for it depends entirely on your word. I am going to get Uncle Henry's supper, and then go and remain the night with the neighbour who has been helping me. In the morning, when he leaves, she is coming with her wagon for my trunk, and she is going to drive with me to Onabasha and find me a cheap room and loan me a few things, until I can buy what I need.
I am going to use fourteen dollars of this and my drawing money for what I am forced to buy, and pay fifty on my debt. Then I will send you my address and be ready for work."
She clutched the envelope and for the first time looked at him.
"Very well," said the Harvester. "I could take you to the wife of my best friend, the chief surgeon of the city hospital, and everything would be ease and rest until you are strong; she would love to have you."
The Girl dropped her hands wearily.
"Don't tire me with it!" she cried. "I am almost falling despite the stimulus of food and drink I can touch. I never can thank you properly for that. Iwon't be able to work hard enough to show you how much I appreciate what you have done for me. But you don't understand. A woman, even a poverty-poor woman, if she be delicately born and reared, cannot go to another woman on a man's whim, and when she lacks even the barest necessities. I don't refuse to meet your friends. I shall love to, when I can be so dressed that I will not shame you. Until that times comes, if you are the gentleman you appear to be, you will wait without urging me further."
"I must be a man, in order to be a gentleman," said the Harvester. "And it is because the man in me is in hot rebellion against more loneliness, pain, and suffering for you, that the conventions become chains I do not care how soon or how roughly I break. If only you could be induced to say the word, I tell you I could bring one of God's gentlest women to you."
"And probably she would come in a dainty gown, in her carriage or motor, and be disgusted, astonished, and secretly sorry for you. As for me, I do not require her pity. I will be glad to know the beautiful, refined, and gentle woman you are so certain of, but not until I am better dressed and more attractive in appearance than now. If you will give me your address, I will write you when I am ready for work."
Silently the Harvester wrote it. "Will you give me permission to take these things to your neighbour for you?" he asked. "They would serve until you can do better, and I have no earthly use for them."
She hesitated. Then she laughed shortly.
"What a travesty my efforts at pride are with you!" she cried. "I begin by trying to preserve some proper dignity, and end by confessing abject poverty. I yet have the ten you paid me the other day, but twenty-four dollars are not much to set up housekeeping on, and I would be more glad than I can say for these very things."
"Thank you," said the Harvester. "I will take them when I go. Is there anything else?"
"I think not."
"Will you have a drink?"
"Yes, if you have more with you. I believe it is really cooling my blood."
"Are you taking the medicine?"
"Yes," she said, "and I am stronger. Truly I am.
I know I appear ghastly to you, but it's loss of sleep, and trying to lay away poor Aunt Molly decently, and----"
"And fear of Uncle Henry," added the Harvester.
"Yes," said the Girl. "That most of all! He thinks I am going to stay here and take her place. I can't tell him I am not, and how I am to hide from him when I am gone, I don't know. I am afraid of him."
"Has he any claim on you?"
"Shelter for the past three months."
"Are you of age?"
"I am almost twenty-four," she said.
"Then suppose you leave Uncle Henry to me," suggested the Harvester.
"Why?"
"Careful now! The red bird told you why!" said the man. "I will not urge it upon you now, but keep it steadily in the back of your head that there is a sunshine room all ready and waiting for you, and I am going to take you to it very soon. As things are, I think you might allow me to tell you----"
She was on her feet in instant panic. "I must go," she said. "Uncle Henry is dogging me to promise to remain, and I will not, and he is watching me. I must go----"
"Can you give me your word of honour that you will go to the neighbour woman to-night; that you feel perfectly safe?"
She hesitated. "Yes, I----I think so. Yes, if he doesn't find out and grow angry. Yes, I will be safe."
"How soon will you write me?"
"Just as soon as I am settled and rest a little."
"Do you mean several days?"
"Yes, several days."
"An eternity!" cried the Harvester with white lips.
"I cannot let you go. Suppose you fall ill and fail to write me, and I do not know where you are, and there is no one to care for you."
"But can't you see that I don't know where I will be? If it will satisfy you, I will write you a line to-morrow night and tell you where I am, and you can come later."
"Is that a promise?" asked the Harvester.
"It is," said the Girl.
"Then I will take these things to your neighbour and wait until to-morrow night. You won't fail me?"
"I never in all my life saw a man so wild over designs," said the Girl, as she started toward the house.
"Don't forget that the design I'm craziest about is the same as the red bird's," the Harvester flung after her, but she hurried on and made no reply.
He folded the table and chair, rolled the rug, and shouldering them picked up the bucket and started down the river bank.
"David!"
Such a faint little call he never would have been sure he heard anything if Belshazzar had not stopped suddenly.
The hair on the back of his neck arose and he turned with a growl in his throat. The Harvester dropped his load with a crash and ran in leaping bounds, but the dog was before him. Half way to the house, Ruth Jameson swayed in the grip of her uncle. One hand clutched his coat front in a spasmodic grasp, and with the other she covered her face.
