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Updated: June 21, 2025
The girl walked swiftly to the log indicated, seated herself, and waited. The Harvester followed to a respectful distance.
Dear Lord!" The Harvester began to perspire as he strode down the hill. He scarcely waited to hang the harness properly. He did not stop to unload the wagon until night, but went after an ax and a board that he split into pegs. Then he took a ball of twine, a measuring line, and began laying out his foundation, when the hard earth would scarcely hold the stakes he drove into it.
"He will," said the Girl. "Let me tell him!" "I wish you would," said the doctor. "I don't know just how to go at it." Then for two days the Harvester and Belshazzar gathered herbs and spread them on the drying trays. On the afternoon of the third, close three, the doctor came to the door. "Langston," he said, "we have a call for you. We can't keep Ruth quiet much longer. She is tired.
Then, tired of hunting, Belshazzar came racing and the little feathered people scattered in precipitate flight. "How do you like that kind of a noise?" inquired the Harvester. The Girl drew a deep breath. "Of course you know that was the most exquisite sight I ever saw," she said. "I never shall forget it. I did not think there were that many different birds in the whole world.
The Harvester arose and went to the sunshine room. "What does he want, Molly?" asked the doctor. "Wants to turn over his job," chuckled the nurse. "He held it about seven minutes in peace, and then she began to fret and call for the Harvester. He just sweat blood to pacify her, but he couldn't make it.
"That is where the fairies get their Christmas pines," he explained. "Do you honestly believe in fairies?" "Surely!" exclaimed the Harvester. "Who would tell me when the maples are dripping sap, and the mushrooms springing up, if the fairies didn't whisper in the night?
The Harvester set the neglected cabin in order; then he carefully and deftly packed all his dried herbs, barks, and roots. Next came carrying the couch grass, wild alum, and soapwort into the store-room. Then followed July herbs.
The Harvester drew a deep breath and looked at the flushed face of the Girl.
At her feet crouched Granny Moreland, rubbing, still rubbing, beneath the covers, while in a steady stream the Harvester was pouring out his song. If he had listened an instant longer he would have recognized that the tone and the words had changed. Now it was, "Gently, breathe gently, Girl! Slowly, steadily, easily! Deeper, a little deeper, Ruth! Brave Girl, never another so wonderful!
The fiber, growing in bolls resembling a walnut in size and shape, had to be taken by hand from every boll, as it has to be today, for no satisfactory cotton harvester has yet been invented.
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