't mean
much to you, and it meant all the world to me. I thought you would carry
it, but, I confess, I scarcely expected the answer so soon. The only
thing that could make me more grateful to you would be to know exactly
where she is: but you must understand that it's like a peep into Heaven
to have her existence narrowed to one place. I'm bound to be able to
say inside a few days, she lives at number----I don't know yet, on
street----I'll find out soon, in the closest city, Onabasha. And I know
why you brought her, South Wind. If ever a girl's cheeks need fanning
with your breezes, and painting with sun kisses, I wouldn't mind, since
this is strictly private, adding a few of mine; if ever any one needed
flowers, birds, fresh air, water, and rest! Good Lord, South Wind, did
you ever reach her before you carried that message? I think not! But
Onabasha isn't so large. You and the sun should get your innings there.
I do hope she is not trying to work! I can attend to that; and so there
will be more time when she is found, I'd better hustle now."

He picked up the bag and returned to the dry-house, where he carefully
washed the roots and spread them on the trays. Then he took the same
bag and mattock and going through the woods in the opposite direction
he came to a heavy growth in a cleared space of high ground. The bloom
heads were forming and the plant was half matured. The Harvester dug a
cylindrical, tapering root, wrinkling lengthwise, wiped it clean, broke
and tasted it. He made a wry face. He stood examining the white wood
with its brown-red bark and, deciding that it was in prime condition, he
began digging the plants. It was common wayside "Bouncing Bet," but the
Harvester called it "soapwort." He took every other plant in his way
across the bed, and when he digged a heavy load he carried it home,
stripped the leaves, and spread them on trays, while the roots he
topped, washed, and put to dry also. Then he whistled for Belshazzar and
went to lunch.

As he passed down the road to the cabin his face was a study of
conflicting emotions, and his eyes had a far away appearance of deep
thought. Every tree of his stretch of forest was rustling fresh leaves
to shelter him; dogwood, wild crab, and hawthorn offered their flowers;
earth held up her tribute in painted trillium faces, spring beauties,
and violets, blue, white, and yellow. Mosses, ferns, and lichen
decorated the path; all the birds greeted him in friendship, a