If a squirrel barked she gave a nervous start, so precipitate it seemed as if it must hurt.

If a windfall came rattling down she appeared ready to fly in headlong terror in any direction.

At last she dropped her pencil and looked at him helplessly.
"What is it ?" he asked.
"The silence and these awful crashes when one doesn't know what is coming," she said.
"Will it bother you if I talk?
Perhaps the sound of my voice will help ?" "I am accustomed to working when people talk, and it will be a comfort.
I may be able to follow you, and that will prevent me from thinking.
There are dreadful things in my mind when they are not driven out.
Please talk! Tell me about the herbs you gathered this morning." The Harvester gave the Girl one long look as she bent over her work.

He was vividly conscious of the graceful curves of her little figure, the coil of dark, silky hair, softly waving around her temples and neck, and when her eyes turned in his direction he knew that it was only the white, drawn face that restrained him.

He was almost forced to tell her how he loved and longed for her; about the home he had prepared; of a thousand personal interests.