nd up the
hill to Medicine Woods. When he came to Singing Water, Belshazzar heard
his steps on the bridge, and came bounding to meet him. The Harvester
stretched himself on a seat and turned his face to the sky. It was a
deep, dark-blue bowl, closely set with stars, and a bright moon shed a
soft May radiance on the young earth. The lake was flooded with light,
and the big trees of the forest crowning the hill were silver coroneted.
The unfolding leaves had hidden the new cabin from the bridge, but the
driveway shone white, and already the upspringing bushes hedged it in.
Insects were humming lazily in the perfumed night air, and across the
lake a courting whip-poor-will was explaining to his sweetheart just
how much and why he loved her. A few bats were wavering in air hunting
insects, and occasionally an owl or a nighthawk crossed the lake.
Killdeer were glorying in the moonlight and night flight, and cried in
pure, clear notes as they sailed over the water. The Harvester was tired
and filled with unrest as he stretched on the bridge, but the longer
he lay the more the enfolding voices comforted him. All of them were
waiting and working out their lives to the legitimate end; there was
nothing else for him to do. He need not follow instinct or profit by
chance. He was a man; he could plan and reason.

The air grew balmy and some big, soft clouds swept across the moon. The
Harvester felt the dampness of rising dew, and went to the cabin. He
looked at it long in the moonlight and told himself that he could see
how much the plants, vines, and ferns had grown since the previous
night. Without making a light, he threw himself on the bed in the
outdoor room, and lay looking through the screening at the lake and sky.
He was working his brain to think of some manner in which to start a
search for the Dream Girl that would have some probability of success to
recommend it, but he could settle on no feasible plan. At last he fell
asleep, and in the night soft rain wet his face. He pulled an oilcloth
sheet over the bed, and lay breathing deeply of the damp, perfumed air
as he again slept. In the morning brilliant sunshine awoke him and he
arose to find the earth steaming.

"If ever there was a perfect mushroom day!" he said to Belshazzar. "We
must hurry and feed the stock and ourselves and gather some. They mean
real money."

CHAPTER VII. THE QUEST OF THE DREAM GIRL

The Harvester breakfasted, fed the stock, hitched Betsy t