gone to find for him. He poured out his heart unrestrainedly,
and then folded the letter, sealed and addressed it to her, in care of
the fire fairies, and pitched it into the ashes of the living-room fire
place. But expression made him feel better.

There was another longer wait for the next letter, but he had written
her so many in the meantime that a little heap of them had accumulated
as he passed through the living-room on his way to bed. He had supposed
she would be gone until after Christmas when she left, but he never had
thought of harvesting sassafras and opening the sugar camp alone. In
those days his face appeared weary, and white hairs came again on his
temples. Carey met him on the street and told him that he was going to
the National Convention of Surgeons at New York in March, and wanted him
to go along and present his new medicine for consideration.

"All right," said the Harvester instantly, "I will go."

He went and interviewed Mrs. Carey, and then visited the doctor's
tailor, and a shoe store, and bought everything required to put him in
condition for travelling in good style, and for the banquet he would
be asked to attend. Then he got Mrs. Carey to coach him on spoons and
forks, and declared he was ready. When the doctor saw that the Harvester
really would go, he sat down and wrote the president of the association,
telling him in brief outline of Medicine Woods and the man who had
achieved a wonderful work there, and of the compounding of the new
remedy.

As he expected, return mail brought an invitation for the Harvester to
address the association and describe his work and methods and present
his medicine. The doctor went out in the car over sloppy roads with that
letter, and located the Harvester in the sugar camp. He explained the
situation and to his surprise found his man intensely interested. He
asked many questions as to the length of time, and amount of detail
required in a proper paper, and the doctor told him.

"But if you want to make a clean sweep, David," he said, "write your
paper simply, and practise until it comes easy before you speak."

That night the Harvester left work long enough to get a notebook, and by
the light of the camp fire, and in company with the owls and coons, he
wrote his outline. One division described his geographical location,
another traced his ancestry and education in wood lore. One was a
tribute to the mother who moulded his character and ground into him