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Updated: June 27, 2025
The object of the Gnat, with her tenacious lying-in-wait and her reckless burglaries, is not to feed herself at the harvester's expense: she could get her living out of the flowers with much less trouble than her thieving trade involves. The most, I think, that she can allow herself to do in the Halictus' cellars is to take one morsel just to ascertain the quality of the victuals.
The moon is the deceivingest thing on earth I know, but does her family 'pear to be an a-gre'-able family, by its light?" The Harvester's laugh boomed a half mile down the road. "Finest people on earth, next to you, dear. I'm mighty glad to have them. I'm going to build them a house on my best location, and we are all going to be happy from now on. Go to bed! This night air may chill you.
He was young, strong, criminally handsome, clean and alert; there was discernible anxiety on his face, and it touched the Harvester's soul that he was coming just as swiftly as he could force his way. As he passed the gates the Harvester reached his side. "Doctor Harmon, I think," he said. "Yes." "This way! If you have luggage, I will send for it later." The Harvester hurried to the car.
But when the Girl comes to his "Medicine Woods," and the Harvester's whole sound, healthy, large outdoor being realizes that this is the highest point of life which has come to him there begins a romance, troubled and interrupted, yet of the rarest idyllic quality. FRECKLES. Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford
Belshazzar, on the seat beside him, recognized a silent, disappointed master and whimpered as he rubbed the Harvester's shoulder to attract his attention. "This is tough luck, old boy," said the Harvester. "I had such hopes and I worked so hard. I suffered in the flesh for every hour of it, and I failed. Oh but I hate the word! If I knew where she is right now, Bel, I'd give anything I've got.
When Jerome was returning from Dale, an hour later, his back bent beneath great sheaves of newly cut shoes, like a harvester's with wheat, he heard a hollow echo of hoofs in the road ahead, then presently a cloud of dust arose like smoke, and out of it came two riders: Lawrence Prescott, on a fine black horse which his father used seldom for driving, he was so unsuited for standing patiently at the doors of affliction, yet kept through a latent fondness for good horse-flesh and Lucina Merritt, on his pretty bay mare.
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.
"I never want to. It is too late. I infinitely prefer to remain in ignorance. Talk of something else." "Let me read a wonderful book I found on the Harvester's shelves." "Anything there will contain wonders, because he only buys what appeals to him, and it takes a great book to do that. I am going to learn.
I offered, if he would come to see her, get her some beef tea, and take care of her while she lived, that afterward " The Girl's frail form shook in a storm of sobs. At last she lifted her eyes to the Harvester's. "There must be a God, and somewhere at the last extremity He must come in. The man went with me, and he was a young doctor who had an office a few blocks away, and he knew what to do.
Beside the dog walked the Girl, one hand on his head the other holding the flowing white robe around her and grasping one of the Harvester's lilies. His first thought was sheer amazement that she was not afraid, for it was evident now that the backlog had awakened her, and she had taken the dog and gone to her mother.
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