"Now my girl," said the Harvester, "cross yourself, lean back, and take your ease. This side that gate you are at home. From here on belongs to us."
"To you, you mean," said the Girl.
"To us, I mean," declared the Harvester. "Don't you know that the `worldly goods bestowal' clause in a marriage ceremony is a partial reality. It doesn't give you `all my worldly goods,' but it gives you one third.
Which will you take, the hill, lake, marsh, or a part of all of them."
"Oh, is there water?"
"Did I forget to mention that I was formerly sole owner and proprietor of the lake of Lost Loons, also a brook of Singing Water, and many cold springs. The lake covers about one third of our land, and my neighbours would allow me ditch outlet to the river, but they say I'm too lazy to take it."
"Lazy! Do they mean drain your lake into the river?"
"They do," said the Harvester, "and make the bed into a cornfield."
"But you wouldn't?"
She turned to him with confidence.
"I haven't so far, but of course, when you see it, if you would prefer it in a corn----Let's play a game!
Turn your head in this direction," he indicated with the whip, "close your eyes, and open them when I say ready."
"All right!"
"Now!" said the Harvester.
"Oh," cried the Girl. "Stop! Please stop!"
They were at the foot of a small levee that ran to the bridge crossing Singing Water. On the left lay the valley through which the stream swept from its hurried rush down the hill, a marshy thicket of vines, shrubs, and bushes, the banks impassable with water growth. Everywhere flamed foxfire and cardinal flower, thousands of wild tiger lilies lifted gorgeous orange-red trumpets, beside pearl-white turtle head and moon daisies, while all the creek bank was a coral line with the first opening bloom of big pink mallows. Rank jewel flower poured gold from dainty cornucopias and lavender beard-tongue offered honey to a million bumbling bees; water smart-weed spread a glowing pink background, and twining amber dodder topped the marsh in lacy mist with its delicate white bloom. Straight before them a white-sanded road climbed to the bridge and up a gentle hill between the young hedge of small trees and bushes, where again flowers and bright colours rioted and led to the cabin yet invisible. On the right, the hill, crowned with gigantic forest trees, sloped to the lake; midway the building stood, and from it, among scattering trees all the way to the water's edge, were immense beds of vivid colour. Like a scarf of gold flung across the face of earth waved the misty saffron, and beside the road running down the hill, in a sunny, open space arose tree-like specimens of thrifty magenta pokeberry. Down the hill crept the masses of colour, changing from dry soil to water growth.
High around the blue-green surface of the lake waved lacy heads of wild rice, lower cat-tails, bulrushes, and marsh grasses; arrowhead lilies lifted spines of pearly bloom, while yellow water lilies and blue water hyacinths intermingled; here and there grew a pink stretch of water smartweed and the dangling gold of jewel flower. Over the water, bordering the edge, starry faces of white pond lilies floated. Blue flags waved graceful leaves, willows grew in clumps, and vines clambered everywhere.
Among the growth of the lake shore, duck, coot, and grebe voices commingled in the last chattering hastened splash of securing supper before bedtime; crying killdeers crossed the water, and overhead the nighthawks massed in circling companies. Betsy climbed the hill and at every step the Girl cried, "Slower! please go slower!" With wide eyes she stared around her.
"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME IT WOULD BE LIKE THIS?" she demanded in awed tones.
"Have I had opportunity to describe much of anything?" asked the Harvester. "Besides, I was born and reared here, and while it has been a garden of bloom for the past six years only, it always has been a picture;but one forgets to say much about a sight seen every day and that requires the work this does."
"That white mist down there, what is it?" she marvelled.
"Pearls grown by the Almighty," answered the Harvester. "Flowers that I hope you will love. They are like you. Tall and slender, graceful, pearl white and pearl pure----those are the arrowhead Lilies."
"And the wonderful purplish-red there on the bank?
Oh, I could kneel and pray before colour like that!'
"Pokeberry!" said the Harvester. "Roots bring five cents a pound. Good blood purifier."
"Man!" cried the Girl. "How can you? I'm not going to ask what another colour is. I'll just worship what I like in silence."
"Will you forgive me if I tell you what a woman whose judgment I respect says about that colour?"
"Perhaps!"
"She says, `God proves that He loves it best of all the tints in His workshop by using it first and most sparingly.'
Now are you going to punish me by keeping silent?"
"I couldn't if I tried."
Just then they came upon the bridge crossing Singing Water, and there was a long view of its border, rippling bed, and marshy banks; while on the other hand the lake resembled a richly incrusted sapphire.
"Is the house close?"
"Just a few rods, at the turn of the drive."
"Please help me down. I want to remain here a while.
I don't care what else there is to see. Nothing can equal this. I wish I could bring down a bed and sleep here. I'd like to have a table, and draw and paint.
I understand now what you mean about the designs you mentioned. Why, there must be thousands! Ican't go on. I never saw anything so appealing in all my life."
Now the Harvester's mother had designed that bridge and he had built it with much care. From bark-covered railings to solid oak floor and comfortable benches running along the sides it was intended to be a part of the landscape.
"I'll send Belshazzar to the cabin with the wagon," he said, "so you can see better."
"But you must not!" she cried. "I can't walk. Iwouldn't soil these beautiful shoes for anything."
"Why don't you change them?" inquired the Harvester.
"I am afraid I forgot everything I had," said the Girl.
