he handed her the glass.

She heaped the dresses on the bed and took it.

"It really does. I am afraid I am using too much."

"I don't think it possibly can hurt you. To-morrow we will ask Doc. How
soon will you be ready for lunch?"

"I don't want a bite."

"You will when you see and smell it," said the Harvester. "I am an
expert cook. It's my chiefest accomplishment. You should taste the
dishes I improvise. But there won't be much to-night, because I want you
to see the moon rise over the lake."

He went away and the Girl removed her dress and spread it on the couch.
Then she bathed her face and hands. When she saw the discoloured cloth,
it proved that she had been painted, and made her very indignant. Yet
she could not be altogether angry, for that flush of colour had saved
the Harvester from being pitied by his friend. She stood a long time
before the mirror, staring at her gaunt, colourless face; then she went
to the dressing table and committed a crime. She found a box of cream
and rubbed it on for a foundation. Then she opened some pink powder, and
carefully dusted her cheeks.

"I am utterly ashamed," she said to the image in the mirror, "but he
has done so much for me, he is so, so----I don't know a word big
enough----that I can't bear him to see how ghastly I am, how little
worth it. Perhaps the food, better air, and outdoor exercise will give
me strength and colour soon. Until it does I'm afraid I'm going to help
out all I can with this. It is wonderful how it changes one. I really
appear like a girl instead of a bony old woman."

Then she looked over the dresses, selected a pretty white princesse,
slipped it on, and went to the kitchen. But the Harvester would not
have her there. He seated her at the dining table, beside the window
overlooking the lake, lighted a pair of his home-made candles in his
finest sticks, and placed before her bread, butter, cold meat, milk, and
fruit, and together they ate their first meal in their home.

"If I had known," said the Harvester, "Granny Moreland is a famous cook.
She is a Southern woman, and she can fry chicken and make some especial
dishes to surpass any one I ever knew. She would have been so pleased to
come over and get us an all-right supper."

"I'd much rather have this, and be by ourselves," said the Girl.

"Well, you can bank on it, I would," agreed the Harvester. "For
instance, if any one were here, I might feel restrained about telling
you that you