The Harvester tightened his grip just a trifle. “Then I thank God, too,” he said. “Can you tell me how you are, dear? Is there any difference?” “Yes,” she answered. “I grow tired lying so long, but there isn't the ghost of an ache in my bones. I can just feel pure, delicious blood running in my veins. My hands and feet are always warm, and my head cool.” The Harvester's face drew very close. “How about your heart, honey?” he whispered. “Anything new there?” “Yes, I am all over new inside and out. I want to shout, run, sing, and swim. Oh I'd give anything to have you carry me down and dip me in the lake right now.” “Soon, Girl! That will come soon,” prophesied the Harvester. “I scarcely can wait. And you did say a saddle, didn't you? Won't it be great to come galloping up the levee, when the leaves are red and the frost is in the air. Oh am I going fast enough?” “Much faster than I expected,” said the Harvester. “You are surprising all of us, me most of any. Ruth, you almost make me hope that you regard this as home. Honey, you are thinking a little of me these days?” The hand that had fallen from his hair lay on his shoulder. Now it slid around his neck, and gripped him with all its strength. “Heaps and heaps!” she said. “All I get a chance to, for being bothered and fussed over, and everlastingly read mushy stuff that's intended for some one else. Please take me to the veranda now; I want to tell you something.” His head swam, but the Harvester set his feet firmly, arose, and carried his Dream Girl back to outdoor life. When he reached the chair, she begged him to go a few steps farther to the bench on the lake shore. “I am afraid,” said the man. “It's so warm. There can't be any difference in the air. Just a minute.” The Harvester pushed open the screen, went to the bench, and seating himself, drew the cover closely around her. “Don't speak a word for a long time,” he said. “Just rest. If I tire you too much and spoil everything, I will be desperate.” He clasped her to him, laid his cheek against her hair, and his lips on her forehead. He held her hand and kissed it over and over, and again he watched and could find no resentment. The cool, pungent breeze swept from the lake, and the voices of wild life chattered at their feet. Sometimes the water folks splashed, while a big black and gold butterfly mistook the Girl's dark hair for a perching place and settled on it, slowly opening its wonderful wings. “Lie quietly, Girl,” whispered the Harvester. “You are wearing a living jewel, an ornament above price, on your hair. Maybe you can see it when it goes. There!” “Oh I did!” she cried. “How I love it here! Before long may I lie in the dining-room window a while so I can see the water. I like the hill, but I love the lake more.” “Now if you just would love me,” said the Harvester, “you would have all Medicine Woods in your heart.”