“What a travesty my efforts at pride are with you!” she cried. “I begin by trying to preserve some proper dignity, and end by confessing abject poverty. I yet have the ten you paid me the other day, but twenty-four dollars are not much to set up housekeeping on, and I would be more glad than I can say for these very things.” “Thank you,” said the Harvester. “I will take them when I go. Is there anything else?” “I think not.” “Will you have a drink?” “Yes, if you have more with you. I believe it is really cooling my blood.” “Are you taking the medicine?” “Yes,” she said, “and I am stronger. Truly I am. I know I appear ghastly to you, but it's loss of sleep, and trying to lay away poor Aunt Molly decently, and----” “And fear of Uncle Henry,” added the Harvester. “Yes,” said the Girl. “That most of all! He thinks I am going to stay here and take her place. I can't tell him I am not, and how I am to hide from him when I am gone, I don't know. I am afraid of him.” “Has he any claim on you?” “Shelter for the past three months.” “Are you of age?” “I am almost twenty-four,” she said. “Then suppose you leave Uncle Henry to me,” suggested the Harvester. “Why?” “Careful now! The red bird told you why!” said the man. “I will not urge it upon you now, but keep it steadily in the back of your head that there is a sunshine room all ready and waiting for you, and I am going to take you to it very soon. As things are, I think you might allow me to tell you----” She was on her feet in instant panic. “I must go,” she said. “Uncle Henry is dogging me to promise to remain, and I will not, and he is watching me. I must go----” “Can you give me your word of honour that you will go to the neighbour woman to-night; that you feel perfectly safe?” She hesitated. “Yes, I----I think so. Yes, if he doesn't find out and grow angry. Yes, I will be safe.” “How soon will you write me?” “Just as soon as I am settled and rest a little.” “Do you mean several days?” “Yes, several days.” “An eternity!” cried the Harvester with white lips. “I cannot let you go. Suppose you fall ill and fail to write me, and I do not know where you are, and there is no one to care for you.” “But can't you see that I don't know where I will be? If it will satisfy you, I will write you a line to-morrow night and tell you where I am, and you can come later.” “Is that a promise?” asked the Harvester. “It is,” said the Girl. “Then I will take these things to your neighbour and wait until to-morrow night. You won't fail me?” “I never in all my life saw a man so wild over designs,” said the Girl, as she started toward the house. “Don't forget that the design I'm craziest about is the same as the red bird's,” the Harvester flung after her, but she hurried on and made no reply. He folded the table and chair, rolled the rug, and shouldering them picked up the bucket and started down the river bank. “David!”