5/70 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? The whip-poor-will is going to tell his mate he loves her, loves her so dearly. |