ne all day. On a chair at the foot were spread some white sheets, a
blanket, and an oilcloth. The sun beat in, the wind drifted through,
and one lying on the couch could see down the bright hill, and sweep the
lake to the opposite bank without lifting the head. The Harvester drew
the Girl to the bedside.

"Now straight in a line from here," he said, "across the lake to that
big, scraggy oak, every clear night the moon builds a bridge of molten
gold, and once you walked it, my girl, and came straight to me, alone
and unafraid; and you were gracious and lovely beyond anything a man
ever dreamed of before. I'll have that to think of to-night. Now come
see the dining-room, kitchen, and hand-made sunshine."

He led her into what had been the front room of the old cabin, now
a large, long dining-room having on each side wide windows with deep
seats. The fireplace backwall was against that of the living-room, but
here the mantel was bare. All the wood-work, chairs, the dining table,
cupboards, and carving table were golden oak. Only a few rugs and
furnishings and a woman's touch were required to make it an unusual and
beautiful room. The kitchen was shining with a white hard-wood floor,
white wood-work, and pale green walls. It was a light, airy, sanitary
place, supplied with a pump, sink, hot and cold water faucets,
refrigerator, and every modern convenience possible to the country.

Then the Harvester almost carried the Girl up the stairs and showed her
three large sleeping rooms, empty and bare save for some packing cases.

"I didn't know about these, so I didn't do anything. When you find
time to plan, tell me what you want, and I'll make--or buy it. They
are good-sized, cool rooms. They all have closets and pipes from the
furnace, so they will be comfortable in winter. Now there is your place
remaining. I'll leave you while I stable Betsy and feed the stock."

He guided her to the door opening from the living-room to the east.

"This is the sunshine spot," he said. "It is bathed in morning light,
and sheltered by afternoon shade. Singing Water is across the drive
there to talk to you always. It comes pelting down so fast it never
freezes, so it makes music all winter, and the birds are so numerous
you'll have to go to bed early for they'll wake you by dawn. I noticed
this room was going to be full of sunshine when I built it, and I craved
only brightness for you, so I coaxed all of it to stay that I could.
Every stro