Suppose you fall ill and fail to write me, and I do not know where you are, and there is no one to care for you." "But can't you see that I don't know where I will be?
If it will satisfy you, I will write you a line to-morrow night and tell you where I am, and you can come later." "Is that a promise ?" asked the Harvester.
"It is," said the Girl.
"Then I will take these things to your neighbour and wait until to-morrow night.

You won't fail me ?" "I never in all my life saw a man so wild over designs," said the Girl, as she started toward the house.
"Don't forget that the design I'm craziest about is the same as the red bird's," the Harvester flung after her, but she hurried on and made no reply.
He folded the table and chair, rolled the rug, and shouldering them picked up the bucket and started down the river bank.
"David!" Such a faint little call he never would have been sure he heard anything if Belshazzar had not stopped suddenly.

The hair on the back of his neck arose and he turned with a growl in his throat.

The Harvester dropped his load with a crash and ran in leaping bounds, but the dog was before him.

Half way to the house, Ruth Jameson swayed in the grip of her uncle.