“I have brought one more kiss I want to try,” she whispered. The Harvester crushed her in his arms until he frightened himself for fear he had hurt her, and murmured an ecstasy of indistinct love words to her. Presently her feet touched the ground and she drew away from him. “Harvester,” she whispered, “I couldn't wait any longer; indeed I could not: and I couldn't leave grandfather and grandmother, and I didn't know what in the world to do, so I just brought them along. Are they welcome?” “Aside from you, I would rather have them than any people on earth,” said the Harvester. There were two sounds in the car; one was an approving murmur, and the other an undeniable snort. The Harvester felt the reassuring pressure of the Girl's hand. “Please, Ruth,” he said, “go turn on the light so that I can see to help grandmother.” A foot stamped before the front seat. “Madam Herron, if you please!” cried an acrid voice. “'Madam Herron,'” said the Harvester gently, as he set a foot on the step, reached in and bodily picked up a little old lady and started up the walk with her in his arms. “Careful there, sir!” roared a voice after him. The Harvester could feel the quake of the laughing woman and he smiled broadly as he entered the cabin, and placed her in a large chair before the fire. Then he wheeled and ran back to the car, reaching it as the man was making an effort to descend. It could be seen that he had been tall, before time and sorrow had bent him, and keen eyes gleamed below shaggy white brows from under his hat brim. He had a white moustache, and his hair was snowy. “Allow me,” said the Harvester reaching a hand. “If you touch me I will cane you,” said Mr. Alexander Herron. There was nothing to do but step back. The cane, wheel, and a long coat skirt interfering, the old man fell headlong, and only quick hands saved him a severe jolt and bruises. He stood glaring in the moonlight while his hat was restored. “If you run your car to the curve you can back toward the south and turn easily,” said the Harvester to the driver. As the automobile passed them he offered his arm. “May I show you to the fire? These spring nights are chilly.” “'Chilly!' Demnition cold is what they are! I'm frozen to the bone! This will be the end of us both! Dragging people of our age around at this hour of night. Of all the accursed stubbornness!” “There are three low steps,” said the Harvester, “now a straight stretch of walk, now two steps; there you are on the level. Here is an easy chair. It would be better to leave on your coat, until I light the fire.” He knelt and scratched a match, and almost instantly a flame sprang from the heap of dry kindling, and began to wrap around the big logs. “How pretty!” exclaimed a soft voice. “Kind of a hunting lodge in the wilds, is it?” growled a rough one. “Marcella, you will take your death here!”