He turned and went down the hill, entered the cabin and took from the other box a mass of Parma violets.
He put these in the pink bowl and placed it on the table beside the Girl's bed. He stood for a time, and then began pulling single flowers from the bowl and dropping them over the pillow and snowy spread.
"God, how I love her!" he whispered softly.
At last he went out and closed the door. He was tired and soon fell asleep with the night breeze stirring his hair, and the glamour of moonlight flooding the lake touched his face. Clearly it etched the strong, manly features, the fine brow and chin, and painted in unusual tenderness the soft lines around the mouth. The little owl wavered its love story, a few frogs were piping, and the Harvester lay breathing the perfumed spring air deeply and evenly. Near midnight Belshazzar awakened him by arising from the bedside and walking to the door.
"What is it, Bel?" inquired the Harvester.
The dog whined softly. The man turned his head toward the lake. A ray of red light touched the opposite embankment and came wavering across the surface.
The Harvester sat up. Two big, flaming eyes were creeping up the levee.
"That," said the Harvester, "might be Doc coming for me to help him try out my bottled sunshine, or it might be my bluebird."
He tossed back the cover, swung his feet to the floor, setting each in a slipper beside the bed, and arose, dressing as he started for the door. As he opened the screen and stepped on the veranda a passenger car from the city stopped, and the Harvester went down the walk to meet it. His heart turned over when he saw a woman's hand on the door.
"Permit me," he said, taking the handle and bringing it back with a sweep. A tall form arose, bent forward, and descended to the step. The full flare of moonlight fell on the glowing face of the Girl.
"Harvester, is it you?" she asked.
"Yes," gasped the man.
Two hands came fluttering out, and he just had presence of mind to step in range so that they rested on his shoulders.
"Has the bluebird come?"
"Not yet!"
"Then I am not too late?"
"Never too late to come to me, Ruth."
"I am welcome?"
"I have no words to tell you how welcome."
She swayed forward and the Harvester tried to reach her lips, but they brushed his cheek and touched his ear.
"I have brought one more kiss I want to try," she whispered.
The Harvester crushed her in his arms until he frightened himself for fear he had hurt her, and murmured an ecstasy of indistinct love words to her. Presently her feet touched the ground and she drew away from him.
"Harvester," she whispered, "I couldn't wait any longer; indeed I could not: and I couldn't leave grandfather and grandmother, and I didn't know what in the world to do, so I just brought them along. Are they welcome?"
"Aside from you, I would rather have them than any people on earth," said the Harvester.
There were two sounds in the car; one was an approving murmur, and the other an undeniable snort.
The Harvester felt the reassuring pressure of the Girl's hand.
"Please, Ruth," he said, "go turn on the light so that I can see to help grandmother."
A foot stamped before the front seat. "Madam Herron, if you please!" cried an acrid voice.
" `Madam Herron,' " said the Harvester gently, as he set a foot on the step, reached in and bodily picked up a little old lady and started up the walk with her in his arms.
"Careful there, sir!" roared a voice after him.
The Harvester could feel the quake of the laughing woman and he smiled broadly as he entered the cabin, and placed her in a large chair before the fire. Then he wheeled and ran back to the car, reaching it as the man was making an effort to descend. It could be seen that he had been tall, before time and sorrow had bent him, and keen eyes gleamed below shaggy white brows from under his hat brim. He had a white moustache, and his hair was snowy.
"Allow me," said the Harvester reaching a hand.
"If you touch me I will cane you," said Mr. Alexander Herron.
There was nothing to do but step back. The cane, wheel, and a long coat skirt interfering, the old man fell headlong, and only quick hands saved him a severe jolt and bruises. He stood glaring in the moonlight while his hat was restored.
"If you run your car to the curve you can back toward the south and turn easily," said the Harvester to the driver. As the automobile passed them he offered his arm. "May I show you to the fire? These spring nights are chilly."
" `Chilly!' Demnition cold is what they are! I'm frozen to the bone! This will be the end of us both!
Dragging people of our age around at this hour of night.
Of all the accursed stubbornness!"
"There are three low steps," said the Harvester, "now a straight stretch of walk, now two steps; there you are on the level. Here is an easy chair. It would be better to leave on your coat, until I light the fire."
He knelt and scratched a match, and almost instantly a flame sprang from the heap of dry kindling, and began to wrap around the big logs.
"How pretty!" exclaimed a soft voice.
"Kind of a hunting lodge in the wilds, is it?" growled a rough one. "Marcella, you will take your death here!"
"I'm sure I feel no exposure. Really, Alexander, if I had passed away every time you have prophesied that I would in the past twenty years you'd have the largest private cemetery in existence. If you would not be so pessimistic I could quite enjoy the trip. It's so long since I've ridden in the cars."
"Of all the abandoned places! And for you to be here, after your years in bed!"
"But I'm not nearly so tired as I am at home, Alexander, truly."
"Let me help you, grandfather," offered the Girl.
She went to him and took his hat and stick.
"Leave me my cane," he cried. "Any instant that beast may attack some of us."
The Girl laughed merrily.
"Why grandfather!" she chided, "Bel is the finest dog you ever knew, he is my best friend here. By the hour he has protected me, and he is gentle as a kitten.
He's crazy over my coming home."
She knelt on the floor, put her arms around the dog's neck, and the delighted brute quivered with the joy of her caress and the sound of her loved voice.
