oke your head for you. Lie
quietly, dear, and Doctor Carey and his head nurse are going to make you
well in a little while. That's right! Let me do the moving; you lie and
rest. Only rest and rest, until all the pain is gone, and the strong
days come, and they are going to bring great joy, love, and peace, to my
dear, dear girl. Even the moans take strength. Try just to lie quietly
and rest. You can't hear Singing Water if you don't listen, Ruth."

"She doesn't realize that it is you or know what you say, David," said
Doctor Carey gently.

"I understand," said the Harvester. "But if you will observe, you will
see that she is quiet when I stroke her head and hands, and if you
notice closely you will grant that she gets a word occasionally. If it
is the right one, it helps. She knows my voice and touch, and she is
less nervous and afraid with me. Watch a minute!"

The Harvester took both of the Girl's fluttering hands in one of his
and with long, light strokes gently brushed them, and then her head, and
face, and then her hands again, and in a low, monotonous, half sing-song
voice he crooned, "Rest, Ruth, rest! It is night now. The moon is
bridging Loon Lake, and the whip-poor-will is crying. Listen, dear,
don't you hear him crying? Still, Girl, still! Just as quiet! Lie so
quietly. The whip-poor-will is going to tell his mate he loves her,
loves her so dearly. He is going to tell her, when you listen. That's a
dear girl. Now he is beginning. He says, 'Come over the lake and listen
to the song I'm singing to you, my mate, my mate, my dear, dear mate,'
and the big night moths are flying; and the katydids are crying,
positive and sure they are crying, a thing that's past denying. Hear
them crying? And the ducks are cheeping, soft little murmurs while
they're sleeping, sleeping. Resting, softly resting! Gently, Girl,
gently! Down the hill comes Singing Water, laughing, laughing! Don't you
hear it laughing? Listen to the big owl courting; it sees the coon out
hunting, it hears the mink softly slipping, slipping, where the dews of
night are dripping. And the little birds are sleeping, so still they
are sleeping. Girls should be a-sleeping, like the birds a-sleeping,
for to-morrow joy comes creeping, joy and life and love come creeping,
creeping to my Girl. Gently, gently, that's a dear girl, gently! Tired
hands rest easy, tired head lies still! That's the way to rest----"

On and on the even voice kept up the story. All ove