One summer--it was a war summer--I thought by personal effort and example to swell the national harvest. I had suggested, advised, and implored. Now I would dig and plant and water, hoping that a beneficent contagion would transform my land from a wasteful reproach to a prolific blessing. My ambitious programme was interrupted midway by a distant call that could not be denied, and I had been a forgetful time away, when I realized, with aching insurrection, that Autumn must be in the Unakas. In my weariness I thought of her as a giant matron, seated amid her peaks, with hair flowing like rivers of copper, and arms stretched out with a vast tenderness to take even me to her bosom. And I fled toward her, my heart and mind exchanging jumbled murmurs of extenuation. Did not the country need all its farmers? Coretta and her dancing youngsters did not meet me as usual under the white oak half-way up the mountain. I asked Serena, who joined me there, concerning the omission, and from her discreet evasion I surmised that a disclosure awaited me in Coretta’s trepidant breast. It was several days in fledging. I ignored the mystery, and plunged into the ardors of conservation. It became quickly evident that my example was not to be the little candle that far rebukes a wasteful world. Coretta did not come near me; and one morning, when I saw Serena approaching, her radiance visible a hundred yards away, I knew that only one thing could give such a tinge of glory to her countenance. She was coming to announce one of her sudden journeys. Yes, Len had agreed for her to visit a sister who lived sixty miles distant. “With everything to do?” I cried. “I can work harder after I come back. A ja’nt always helps me.” That was true. She would look younger, by ten years, on her return. “Can Len afford it now, Serena?” “I told him I’d git the money from you, an’ work it out when I got back. I can put in several days ’fore fodder-pullin’. I reckon you’ll be wantin’ some help by that time,” she added, with a glance at the beans and tomatoes in piles on the kitchen porch. By that time, indeed! Her radiance began to fade. Was it possible I could hesitate? “I told Len you’d never refused me _yit_.” With the money happily clutched, she turned a shining back upon me. I started meekly to Coretta’s. But so many evidences of neglect seen on the way brought me to her in remonstrative mood. She was very busy sewing. The children were to have new dresses. And in harvest-time! “I thought I should find you canning, Coretta.” “I ain’t got no heart this year,” she said. I tried to recall some of the mottoes of the period. Every mouthful we save, and so forth. “And your brother is over there, you know.” She dropped her head. “I see your beans are not picked yet.” “I jest ain’t got no heart.” “Is that why you didn’t keep the weeds out of my garden?” “Yes, Mis’ Dolly.” “But I sent you the hat.”