ields. The Harvester was busy
trying to plan what to do first, and how to do it most effectively, and
working his brain to think if he had everything the Girl would require
for her comfort; so he drove silently through the deepening shadows. She
shuddered and awoke him suddenly. He glanced at her from the corner of
his eye.

Her thoughts had gone on a journey, also, and the way had been rough,
for her face wore a strained appearance. The hands lying bare in her lap
were tightly gripped, so that the nails and knuckles appeared blue.
The Harvester hastily cast around seeking for the cause of the
transformation. A few minutes ago she had seemed at ease and
comfortable, now she was close open panic. Nothing had been said that
would disturb her. With brain alert he searched for the reason. Then
it began to come to him. The unaccustomed silence and depression of the
country might have been the beginning. Coming from the city and crowds
of people to the gloomy valley with a man almost a stranger, going she
knew not where, to conditions she knew not what, with the experiences of
the day vivid before her. The black valley road was not prepossessing,
with its border of green pools, through which grew swamp bushes and
straggling vines. The Harvester looked carefully at the road, and ceased
to marvel at the Girl. But he disliked to let her know he understood, so
he gave one last glance at those gripped hands and casually held out the
lines.

"Will you take these just a second?" he asked. "Don't let them touch
your dress. We must not lose of our load, because it's mostly things
that will make you more comfortable."

He arose, and turning, pretended to see that everything was all right.
Then he resumed his seat and drove on.

"I am a little ashamed of this stretch through here," he said
apologetically. "I could have managed to have it cleared and in better
shape long ago, but in a way it yields a snug profit, and so far I've
preferred the money. The land is not mine, but I could grub out this
growth entirely, instead of taking only what I need."

"Is there stuff here you use?" the Girl aroused herself to ask, and the
Harvester saw the look of relief that crossed her face at the sound of
his voice.

"Well I should say yes," he laughed. "Those bushes, numerous everywhere,
with the hanging yellow-green balls, those, in bark and root, go into
fever medicines. They are not so much used now, but sometimes I have a
call, and when I