"You must," said the Harvester. "I only see and recognize studies; I can't materialize them, and until they are drawn, no one can profit by them. In this partnership we revolutionize decorative art. There are actually birds besides fat robins and nondescript swallows. The crane and heron do not monopolize the water.
Wild rose and golden-rod are not the only flowers. The other day I was gathering lobelia. The seeds are used in tonic preparations. It has an upright stem with flowers scattered along it. In itself it is not much, but close beside it always grows its cousin, tall bell-flower.
As the name indicates, the flowers are bell shape and I can't begin to describe their grace, beauty, and delicate blue colour. They ring my strongest call to worship.
My work keeps me in the woods so much I remain there for my religion also. Whenever I find these flowers I always pause for a little service of my own that begins by reciting these lines:
" 'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth And tolls its perfume on the passing air, Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth A call to prayer."
"Beautiful!" said the Girl.
"It's mighty convenient," explained the Harvester.
"By my method, you see, you don't have to wait for your day and hour of worship. Anywhere the blue bell rings its call it is Sunday in the woods and in your heart.
After I recite that, I pray my prayer."
"Go on!" said the Girl. "This is no place to stop."
"It is always one and the same prayer, and there are only two lines of it," said the Harvester. "It runs this way---- Let me take your pencil and I will write it for you."
He bent over her shoulder, and traced these lines on a scrap of the wrapping paper:
"Almighty Evolver of the Universe:
Help me to keep my soul and body clean, And at all times to do unto others as I would be done by.
Amen."
The Girl took the slip and sat studying it; then she raised her eyes to his face curiously, but with a tinge of awe in them.
"I can see you standing over a blue, bell-shaped flower reciting those exquisite lines and praying this wonderful prayer," she said. "Yesterday you allowed the moth you were willing to pay five dollars for a drawing of, to go, because you wouldn't risk breaking its wings.
Why you are more like a woman!"
A red stream crimsoned the Harvester's face.
"Well heretofore I have been considered strictly masculine," he said. "To appreciate beauty or to try to be just commonly decent is not exclusively feminine.
You must remember there are painters, poets, musicians, workers in art along almost any line you could mention, and no one calls them feminine, but there is one good thing if I am. You need no longer fear me.
If you should see me, muck covered, grubbing in the earth or on a raft washing roots in the lake, you would not consider me like a woman."
"Would it be any discredit if I did? I think not.
I merely meant that most men would not see or hear the blue bell at all----and as for the poem and prayer!
If the woods make a man with such fibre in his soul, I must learn them if they half kill me."
"You harp on death. Try to forget the word."
"I have faced it for months, and seen it do its grinding worst very recently to the only thing on earth I loved or that loved me. I have no desire to forget! Tell me more about the plants."
"Forgive me," said the Harvester gently. "Just now I am collecting catnip for the infant and nervous people, hoarhound for colds and dyspepsia, boneset heads and flowers for the same purpose. There is a heavy head of white bloom with wonderful lacy leaves, called yarrow.
I take the entire plant for a tonic and blessed thistle leaves and flowers for the same purpose."
"That must be what I need," interrupted the Girl.
"Half the time I believe I have a little fever, but Icouldn't have dyspepsia, because I never want anything to eat; perhaps the tonic would make me hungry."
"Promise me you will tell that to the doctor who comes to see your aunt, and take what he gives you."
"No doctor comes to see my aunt. She is merely playing lazy to get out of work. There is nothing the matter with her."
"Then why----"
"My uncle says that. Really, she could not stand and walk across a room alone. She is simply worn out."
"I shall report the case," said the Harvester instantly.
"You better not!" said the Girl. "There must be a mistake about you knowing my uncle. Tell me more of the flowers."
The Harvester drew a deep breath and continued:
"These I just have named I take at bloom time;next month come purple thorn apple, jimson weed, and hemlock."
"Isn't that poison?"
"Half the stuff I handle is."
"Aren't you afraid?"
"Terribly," said the Harvester in laughing voice.
"But I want the money, the sick folk need the medicine, and I drink water."
The Girl laughed also.
"Look here!" said the Harvester. "Why not tell me just as closely as you can about your aunt, and let me fix something for her; or if you are afraid to trust me, let me have my friend of whom I spoke yesterday."
"Perhaps I am not so much afraid as I was," said the Girl. "I wish I could! How could I explain where I got it and I wonder if she would take it."
"Give it to her without any explanation," said the Harvester. "Tell her it will make her stronger and she must use it. Tell me exactly how she is, and I will fix up some harmless remedies that may help, and can do no harm."
"She simply has been neglected, overworked, and abused until she has lain down, turned her face to the wall, and given up hope. I think it is too late. Ithink the end will come soon. But I wish you would try. I'll gladly pay----"
"Don't!" said the Harvester. "Not for things that grow in the woods and that I prepare. Don't think of money every minute."
"I must," she said with forced restraint. "It is the price of life. Without it one suffers----horribly----as I know. What other plants do you gather?"
