every breath. It is never
entirely out of my mind. Oh Man, if only you would lift her from the
horrible place she lies, where briers run riot and cattle trample and
the unmerciful sun beats! Oh if only you'd lift her from it, and bring
her here! I believe it would take away some of the horror, the shame,
and the heartache. I believe I could go to sleep without hearing the
voice of her suffering, if I knew she was lying on this hill, under your
beautiful tree, close the dear mother you love. Oh Man, would you----?"

The Harvester crushed the Girl in his arms and shuddering sobs shook his
big frame, and choked his voice.

"Ruth, for God's sake, be quiet!" he cried. "Why I'd be glad to! I'll go
anywhere you tell me, and bring her, and she shall rest where the lake
murmurs, the trees shelter, the winds sing, and earth knows the sun only
in long rays of gold light."

She stared at him with strained face.

"You----you wouldn't!" she breathed.

"Ruth, child," said the Harvester, "I tell you I'd be happy. Look at
my side of this! I'm in search of bands to bind you to me and to this
place. Could you tell me a stronger than to have the mother you idolized
lie here for her long sleep? Why Girl, you can't know the deep and
abiding joy it would give me to bring her. I'd feel I had you almost
secure. Where is she Ruth?"

"In that old unkept cemetery south of Onabasha, where it costs no money
to lay away your loved ones."

"Close here! Why I'll go to-morrow! I supposed she was in the city."

She straightened and drew away from him.

"How could I? I had nothing. I could not have paid even her fare and
brought her here in the cheapest box the decency of man would allow
him to make if her doctor had not given me the money I owe. Now do
you understand why I must earn and pay it myself? Save for him, it was
charity or her delicate body to horrors. Money never can repay him."

"Ruth, the day you came to Onabasha was she with you?"

"In the express car," said the Girl.

"Where did you go when you left the train shed?"

"Straight to the baggage room, where Uncle Henry was waiting. Men
brought and put her in his wagon, and he drove with me to the place and
other men lowered her, and that was all."

"You poor Girl!" cried the Harvester. "This time to-morrow night she
shall sleep in luxury under this oak, so help me God! Ruth, can you
spare me? May I go at once? I can't rest, myself."

"You will?" cried the Girl. "You will?"