, bless Ruth, and help
her as You never helped mortal woman before to know her own mind without
'variableness, neither shadow of turnin'.'"

The Harvester was on Singing Water bridge before he gave way. There he
laughed as never before in his life. Finally he controlled himself
and started toward the cabin; but he was chuckling as he passed the
driveway, and walked down the broad cement floor leading to his bathing
pool, where the moonlight bridged the lake, and fell as a benediction
all around him.

He stood a long time, when he recognized the familiar crash of a
breaking backlog falling together, and heard the customary leap of the
frightened dog. He walked to his door and listened intently, but there
was no sound; so he decided the Girl had not been awakened. In the midst
of a whitening sheet of gold the Harvester dropped to his stoop and
leaned his head against the broad casing. He broke a twig from a
hawthorn bush beside him, and sat twisting it in his fingers as
he stared down the line of the gold bridge. Never had it seemed so
material, so like a path that might be trodden by mortal feet and lead
them straight to Heaven. As on the hill top, night again surrounded him
and the Harvester's soul drank deep wild draughts of a new joy. Sleep
was out of the question. He was too intensely alive to know that he ever
again could be weary. He sat there in the moonlight, and with unbridled
heart gloried in the joy that had come to him.

He turned his face from the bridge as he heard the click of Belshazzar's
nails on the floor of the bathing pool. Then his heart and breath
stopped an instant. Beside the dog walked the Girl, one hand on his head
the other holding the flowing white robe around her and grasping one of
the Harvester's lilies. His first thought was sheer amazement that she
was not afraid, for it was evident now that the backlog had awakened
her, and she had taken the dog and gone to her mother. Then she had
followed the path leading down the hill, around the cabin, and into the
sheet of moonlight gilding the shore. She stood there gazing over
the lake, oblivious to all things save the entrancing allurement of
a perfect spring night beside undulant water. Screened from her with
bushes and trees the Harvester scarcely breathed lest he startle her.
Then his head swam, and his still heart leaped wildly. She was coming
toward him. On her left lay the path to the hill top. A few steps
farther she could turn to the r