o the spring
wagon, and went into the dripping, steamy woods. If anyone had asked him
that morning concerning his idea of Heaven, he never would have dreamed
of describing a place of gold-paved streets, crystal pillars, jewelled
gates, and thrones of ivory. These things were beyond the man's
comprehension and he would not have admired or felt at home in such
magnificence if it had been materialized for him. He would have told
you that a floor of last year's brown leaves, studded with myriad flower
faces, big, bark-encased pillars of a thousand years, jewels on every
bush, shrub, and tree, and tilting thrones on which gaudy birds almost
burst themselves to voice the joy of life, while their bright-eyed
little mates peered questioningly at him over nest rims----he would have
told you that Medicine Woods on a damp, sunny May morning was Heaven.
And he would have added that only one angel, tall and slender, with the
pink of health on her cheeks and the dew of happiness in her dark eyes,
was necessary to enter and establish glory. Everything spoke to him that
morning, but the Harvester was silent. It had been his habit to talk
constantly to Belshazzar, Ajax, his work, even the winds and perfumes;
it had been his method of dissipating solitude, but to-day he had no
words, even for these dear friends. He only opened his soul to beauty,
and steadily climbed the hill to the crest, and then down the other side
to the rich, half-shaded, half-open spaces, where big, rough mushrooms
sprang in a night similar to the one just passed.

He could see them awaiting him from afar. He began work with rapid
fingers, being careful to break off the heads, but not to pull up the
roots. When four heaping baskets were filled he cut heavily leaved
branches to spread over them, and started to Onabasha. As usual,
Belshazzar rode beside him and questioned the Harvester when he politely
suggested to Betsy that she make a little haste.

"Have you forgotten that mushrooms are perishable?" he asked. "If we
don't get these to the city all woodsy and fresh we can't sell them.
Wonder where we can do the best? The hotels pay well. Really, the
biggest prices could be had by----"

Then the Harvester threw back his head and began to laugh, and
he laughed, and he laughed. A crow on the fence Joined him, and a
kingfisher, heading for Loon Lake, and then Belshazzar caught the
infection.

"Begorry! The very idea!" cried the Harvester. "'Heaven helps them
that