"I suppose you'd hold their noses and pour stuff down them."
"I would if necessary."
"Well, it is."
"All right----I'll fix something, and you see that they use it."
"I can try," said the Harvester.
"Try! Pah! You aren't half a man!"
"That's a half more than being a woman, anyway."
"She called you feminine, did she?" cried the doctor, dancing and laughing. "She ought to see you harvesting skunk cabbage and blue flag or when you are angry enough."
The doctor left the room and it was a half hour before he returned.
"Try that on them according to directions," he said, handing over a couple of bottles.
"Thank you!" said the Harvester, "I will!"
"That sounds manly enough."
"Oh pother! It's not that I'm not a man, or a laggard in love; but I'd like to know what you'd do to a girl dumb with grief over the recent loss of her mother, who was her only relative worth counting, sick from God knows what exposure and privation, and now a dying relative on her hands. What could you do?"
"I'd marry her and pick her out of it!"
"I wouldn't have her, if she'd leave a sick woman for me!"
"I wouldn't either. She's got to stick it out until her aunt grows better, and then I'll go out there and show you how to court a girl."
"I guess not! You keep the girl you did court, courted, and you'll have your hands full. How does that appear to you?"
The Harvester opened the pamphlet he carried and held up the drawing of the moth.
The doctor turned to the light.
"Good work!" he cried. "Did she do that?"
"She did. In a little over an hour."
"Fine! She should have a chance."
"She is going to. She is going to have all the opportunity that is coming to her."
"Good for you, David! Any time I can help!"
The Harvester replaced the sketch and went to the wagon; but he left Belshazzar in charge, and visited the largest dry goods store in Onabasha, where he held a conference with the floor walker. When he came out he carried a heaping load of boxes of every size and shape, with a label on each. He drove to Medicine Woods singing and whistling.
"She didn't want me to go, Belshazzar!" he chuckled to the dog. "She was more afraid of a cow than she was of me. I made some headway to-day, old boy.
She doesn't seem to have a ray of an idea what I am there for, but she is going to trust me soon now; that is written in the books. Oh I hope she will be there to-morrow, and the luna will be out. Got half a notion to take the case and lay it in the warmest place I can find.
But if it comes out and she isn't there, I'll be sorry.
Better trust to luck."
The Harvester stabled Betsy, fed the stock, and visited with the birds. After supper he took his purchases and entered her room. He opened the drawers of the chest he had made, and selecting the labelled boxes he laid them in. But not a package did he open. Then he arose and radiated conceit of himself.
"I'll wager she will like those," he commented proudly, "because Kane promised me fairly that he would have the right things put up for a girl the size of the clerk I selected for him, and exactly what Ruth should have. That girl was slenderer and not quite so tall, but he said everything was made long on purpose. Now what else should I get?"
He turned to the dressing table and taking a notebook from his pocket made this list:
Rugs for bed and bath room.
Mattresses, pillows and bedding, Dresses for all occasions.
All kinds of shoes and overshoes.
"There are gloves, too!" exclaimed the Harvester.
"She has to have some, but how am I going to know what is right? Oh, but she needs shoes! High, low, slippers, everything! I wonder what that clerk wears. I don't believe shoes would be comfortable without being fitted, or at least the proper size. I wonder what kind of dresses she likes. I hope she's fond of white. A woman always appears loveliest in that. Maybe I'd better buy what I'm sure of and let her select the dresses. But I'd love to have this room crammed with girl-fixings when she comes. Doesn't seem as if she ever has had any little luxuries. I can't miss it on anything a woman uses.
Let me think!"
Slowly he wrote again:
Parasols.
Fans.
Veils.
Hats.
"I never can get them! I think that will keep me busy for a few days," said the Harvester as he closed the door softly, and went to look at the pupae cases. Then he carved on the vine of the candlestick for her dressing table; with one arm around Belshazzar, re-read the story of John Muir's dog, went into the lake, and to bed.
Just as he was becoming unconscious the beast lifted an inquiring head and gazed at the man.
"More 'fraid of cow," the Harvester was muttering in a sleepy chuckle.
