not monopolize the water. Wild rose and golden-rod are not
the only flowers. The other day I was gathering lobelia. The seeds
are used in tonic preparations. It has an upright stem with flowers
scattered along it. In itself it is not much, but close beside it always
grows its cousin, tall bell-flower. As the name indicates, the flowers
are bell shape and I can't begin to describe their grace, beauty, and
delicate blue colour. They ring my strongest call to worship. My work
keeps me in the woods so much I remain there for my religion also.
Whenever I find these flowers I always pause for a little service of my
own that begins by reciting these lines:

"'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth
And tolls its perfume on the passing air,
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth
A call to prayer."

"Beautiful!" said the Girl.

"It's mighty convenient," explained the Harvester. "By my method, you
see, you don't have to wait for your day and hour of worship. Anywhere
the blue bell rings its call it is Sunday in the woods and in your
heart. After I recite that, I pray my prayer."

"Go on!" said the Girl. "This is no place to stop."

"It is always one and the same prayer, and there are only two lines of
it," said the Harvester. "It runs this way---- Let me take your pencil
and I will write it for you."

He bent over her shoulder, and traced these lines on a scrap of the
wrapping paper:

"Almighty Evolver of the Universe:
Help me to keep my soul and body clean,
And at all times to do unto others as I would be done by.
Amen."

The Girl took the slip and sat studying it; then she raised her eyes to
his face curiously, but with a tinge of awe in them.

"I can see you standing over a blue, bell-shaped flower reciting those
exquisite lines and praying this wonderful prayer," she said. "Yesterday
you allowed the moth you were willing to pay five dollars for a drawing
of, to go, because you wouldn't risk breaking its wings. Why you are
more like a woman!"

A red stream crimsoned the Harvester's face.

"Well heretofore I have been considered strictly masculine," he said.
"To appreciate beauty or to try to be just commonly decent is not
exclusively feminine. You must remember there are painters, poets,
musicians, workers in art along almost any line you could mention, and
no one calls them feminine, but there is one