nd for you proves your value, and of course, humanity comes first,
after all. If I remain in the woods alone much longer I'll get to the
place where I'm not so sure that it does. Seems as if animals, birds,
flowers, trees, and insects as well, have their right to life also. But
it's for me to remember the sick folks! If I thought the Girl would get
some of it now, I could overturn the bed with a stout heart. If any one
ever needed a tonic, I think she does. Maybe some of this will reach
her. If it does, I hope it will make her cheeks just the lovely pink of
the bloom. Oh Lord! If only she hadn't appeared so sick and frightened!
What is there in all this world of sunshine to make a girl glance around
her like that? I wish I knew! Maybe they will have found her by night."

The Harvester began work on the bed, but he knelt and among the damp
leaves from the spongy black earth he lifted the roots with his fingers
and carefully straightened and pressed down the plants he did not take.
This required more time than usual, but his heart was so sore he could
not be rough with anything, most of all a flower. So he harvested the
wild alum by hand, and heaped large stacks of roots around the edges of
the bed. Often he paused as he worked and on his knees stared through
the forest as if he hoped perhaps she would realize his longing for her,
and come to him in the wood as she had across the water. Over and
over he repeated, "Perhaps they will find her by night!" and that so
intensified the meaning that once he said it aloud. His face clouded and
grew dark.

"Dealish nice business!" he said. "I am here in the woods digging flower
roots, and a gang of men in the city are searching for the girl I love.
If ever a job seemed peculiarly a man's own, it appears this would be.
What business has any other man spying after my woman? Why am I not down
there doing my own work, as I always have done it? Who's more likely to
find her than I am? It seems as if there would be an instinct that
would lead me straight to her, if I'd go. And you can wager I'll go fast
enough."

The Harvester appeared as if he would start that instant, but with lips
closely shut he finally forced himself to go on with his work. When he
had rifled the bed, and uprooted all he cared to take during one season,
he carried the roots to the lake shore below the curing house, and
spread them on a platform he had built. He stepped into his boat and
began dashing pails of wate