Tagger often stopped to stare and wonder. The machinery belt, smooth and glittering like a broad satin ribbon, industriously turning on great wheels, made him dance, barefooted over the stubble, to the music of its motion. Little imps, such as he, counted this day of the year a holiday high above all others they had ever known. The mule that was driven with a long lasso under the straw as it fell had a half-dozen or more children to pull every time it went to the stack. In spite of the dust and the chaff that covered their heads and half stifled them, they gave a wild dart and leaped upon the heap as it was hauled away. Sometimes the wind took a whirl and scattered the straw, niggers and all broadcast along the field. Glenn Andrews’ heart beat lightly, the air thrilled with sounds, the music of the harvesters and the hum of the thresher. There is nothing like life under the open heaven, he knew. Glenn was a gypsy by nature. “How is it turning out?” he asked, coming up to Mr. Curtis, who was counting the loaded wagons that were filled with sacks of wheat, starting off to be stored. “Very good; the yield is something like sixteen bushels to the acre. I’ll have about eighteen hundred altogether.” Glenn Andrews looked up and saw a figure coming across the stubble--one that stood out in delicate relief, slimmer, shapelier than the rest. She was all in white; Mr. Curtis saw her, too. “Here comes the fly-up-the-creek,” he said. “She looks like a hearse horse with all those elder blooms on her head.” His speech had no touch of spitefulness. “I like her way; she is as wild and lawless as the wind, and as free.” Glenn Andrews never thought or spoke of Esther without defense. “Yes, and as sprightly as they make ’em,” Mr. Curtis began. “She never went to school a day in her life. Her mother taught her, and her grandpa reads to her. But play the fiddle--she can play it to beat the band. She just took it up first. She could catch any tune. A teacher came along about two years ago who knew a little about the fiddle. Mr. Campbell is very poor now. He let the lady board with him to give Esther lessons while she was teaching in the district. She would not practice, they say, but you never saw anybody learn like she did without it.” “What a pity she hasn’t a chance to keep on.” “Yes, but she never will. The old man is failing; I don’t know what’s to become of her when he’s gone. He worries over not being able to give her a musical education. You’d never think it, he is so quiet about it.” “Has she no near relatives who would take her and help her to get a start?”