eside the road running down the
hill, in a sunny, open space arose tree-like specimens of thrifty
magenta pokeberry. Down the hill crept the masses of colour, changing
from dry soil to water growth.

High around the blue-green surface of the lake waved lacy heads of wild
rice, lower cat-tails, bulrushes, and marsh grasses; arrowhead lilies
lifted spines of pearly bloom, while yellow water lilies and blue water
hyacinths intermingled; here and there grew a pink stretch of water
smartweed and the dangling gold of jewel flower. Over the water,
bordering the edge, starry faces of white pond lilies floated. Blue
flags waved graceful leaves, willows grew in clumps, and vines clambered
everywhere.

Among the growth of the lake shore, duck, coot, and grebe voices
commingled in the last chattering hastened splash of securing supper
before bedtime; crying killdeers crossed the water, and overhead the
nighthawks massed in circling companies. Betsy climbed the hill and at
every step the Girl cried, "Slower! please go slower!" With wide eyes
she stared around her.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME IT WOULD BE LIKE THIS?" she demanded in awed
tones.

"Have I had opportunity to describe much of anything?" asked the
Harvester. "Besides, I was born and reared here, and while it has been
a garden of bloom for the past six years only, it always has been a
picture; but one forgets to say much about a sight seen every day and
that requires the work this does."

"That white mist down there, what is it?" she marvelled.

"Pearls grown by the Almighty," answered the Harvester. "Flowers that I
hope you will love. They are like you. Tall and slender, graceful, pearl
white and pearl pure----those are the arrowhead Lilies."

"And the wonderful purplish-red there on the bank? Oh, I could kneel and
pray before colour like that!'

"Pokeberry!" said the Harvester. "Roots bring five cents a pound. Good
blood purifier."

"Man!" cried the Girl. "How can you? I'm not going to ask what another
colour is. I'll just worship what I like in silence."

"Will you forgive me if I tell you what a woman whose judgment I respect
says about that colour?"

"Perhaps!"

"She says, 'God proves that He loves it best of all the tints in His
workshop by using it first and most sparingly.' Now are you going to
punish me by keeping silent?"

"I couldn't if I tried." Just then they came upon the bridge crossing
Singing Water, and there was a long view of its border, ri