The Girl staggered under the heavy load, and the man turned his head and tried to pretend he did not see. Presently she came out to him, and they returned to the line of the woods. Just as they entered the shade there was a flash before them, and on a twig a few rods away a little gray bird alighted, while in precipitate pursuit came a flaming wonder of red, and in a burst of excited trills, broken whistles, and imploring gestures, perched beside her. The Harvester hastily drew the Girl behind some bushes. “Watch!” he whispered. “You are going to see a sight so lovely and so rare it is vouchsafed to few mortals ever to behold.” “What are they fighting about?” she whispered. “You are witnessing a cardinal bird declare his love,” breathed the Harvester. “Do cardinals love different birds?” “No. The female is gray, because if she is coloured the same as the trees and branches and her nest, she will have more chance to bring off her young in safety. He is blood red, because he is the bravest, gayest, most ardent lover of the whole woods,” explained the Harvester. The Girl leaned forward breathlessly watching and a slow surge of colour crept into her cheeks. The red bird twisted, whistled, rocked, tilted, and trilled, and the gray sat demurely watching him, as if only half convinced he really meant it. The gay lover began at the beginning and said it all over again with more impassioned gestures than before, and then he edged in touch and softly stroked her wing with his beak. She appeared startled, but did not fly. So again the fountain of half-whistled, half-trilled notes bubbled with the acme of pleading intonation and that time he leaned and softly kissed her as she reached her bill for the caress. Then she fled in headlong flight, while the streak of flame darted after her. The Girl caught her breath in a swift spasm of surprise and wonder. She turned to the Harvester. “What was it you wanted to say to me?” she asked hurriedly. The Harvester was not the man to miss the goods the gods provided. Truly this was his lucky day. Unhesitatingly he took the plunge. “Precisely what he said to her. And if you observed closely, you noticed that she didn't ask him 'why.'” Before she could open her lips, he was gone, his swift strides carrying him through the woods. CHAPTER XII. “THE WAY OF A MAN WITH A MAID” The next day the Harvester lifted the oilcloth, and picking up a folded note he read---- “Aunt Molly found rest in the night. She was more comfortable than she had been since I have known her. Close the end she whispered to me to thank you if I ever saw you again. She will be buried to-morrow. Past that, I dare not think.”