rked she gave a nervous start, so precipitate it seemed as if it must
hurt. If a windfall came rattling down she appeared ready to fly in
headlong terror in any direction. At last she dropped her pencil and
looked at him helplessly.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The silence and these awful crashes when one doesn't know what is
coming," she said.

"Will it bother you if I talk? Perhaps the sound of my voice will help?"

"I am accustomed to working when people talk, and it will be a comfort.
I may be able to follow you, and that will prevent me from thinking.
There are dreadful things in my mind when they are not driven out.
Please talk! Tell me about the herbs you gathered this morning."

The Harvester gave the Girl one long look as she bent over her work. He
was vividly conscious of the graceful curves of her little figure, the
coil of dark, silky hair, softly waving around her temples and neck,
and when her eyes turned in his direction he knew that it was only the
white, drawn face that restrained him. He was almost forced to tell her
how he loved and longed for her; about the home he had prepared; of
a thousand personal interests. Instead, he took a firm grip and said
casually, "Foxglove harvest is over. This plant has to be taken when the
leaves are in second year growth and at bloom time. I have stripped my
mullein beds of both leaves and flowers. I finished a week ago. Beyond
lies a stretch of Parnassus grass that made me think of you, it was so
white and delicate. I want you to see it. It will be lovely in a few
weeks more."

"You never had seen me a week ago."

"Oh hadn't I?" said the Harvester. "Well maybe I dreamed about you then.
I am a great dreamer. Once I had a dream that may interest you some
day, after you've overcome your fear of me. Now this bed of which I was
speaking is a picture in September. You must arrange to drive home with
me and see it then."

"For what do you sell foxglove and mullein?"

"Foxglove for heart trouble, and mullein for catarrh. I get ten cents a
pound for foxglove leaves and five for mullein and from seventy-five to
a dollar for flowers of the latter, depending on how well I preserve the
colour in drying them. They must be sealed in bottles and handled with
extreme care."

"Then if I wasn't too childish to be out picking them, I could be
earning seventy-five cents a pound for mullein blooms?"

"Yes," said the Harvester, "but until you learned the trick of stripping
them