nt over her drawing material. The Harvester went
to her with a rush, and slipping his fingers under her chin, tilted back
her head against him.

"Got a kiss for me, honey?" he inquired.

"No sir," answered the Girl emphatically. "I gave you a perfectly lovely
one yesterday, and you said it was not right. I am going to try just
once more, and if you say again that it won't do, I'm going back to
Chicago or to my dear Uncle Henry, I haven't decided which."

Her lips were smiling, but her eyes were full of tears.

"Why thank you, Ruth! I think that is wonderful," said the Harvester.
"I'll risk the next one. In the meantime, excuse me if I give you a
demonstration of the real thing, just to furnish you an idea of how it
should be."

The Harvester delivered the sample, and went striding to the marsh. The
dazed Girl sat staring at her work, trying to realize what had happened;
for that was the first time the Harvester had kissed her on the lips,
and it was the material expression a strong man gives the woman he loves
when his heart is surging at high tide. The Girl sat motionless, gazing
at her study.

In the marsh she knew the Harvester was reaping queen-of-the-meadow,
and around the high borders, elecampane and burdock. She could hear his
voice in snatches of song or cheery whistle; notes that she divined
were intended to keep her from worrying. Intermingled with them came the
dog's bark of defiance as he digged for an escaping chipmunk, his note
of pleading when he wanted a root cut with the mattock, his cry of
discovery when he thought he had found something the Harvester would
like, or his yelp of warning when he scented danger. The Girl looked
down the drive to the lake and across at the hedge. Everywhere she saw
glowing colour, with intermittent blue sky and green leaves, all of it a
complete picture, from which nothing could be spared. She turned slowly
and looked toward the marsh, trying to hear the words of the song above
the ripple of Singing Water, and to see the form of the man. Slowly
she lifted her handkerchief and pressed it against her lips, as she
whispered in an awed voice,

"My gracious Heaven, is THAT the kind of a kiss he is expecting me to
give HIM? Why, I couldn't----not to save my life."

She placed her brushes in water, set the colour box on the paper, and
went to the kitchen to prepare the noon lunch. As she worked the soft
colour deepened in her cheeks, a new light glowed in her eyes, and s