As the Harvester lifted them he bent the tops and buried part of the seed for another crop.

For weeks he worked over the bed.
Then the last load went down the hill to the dry-house and the helpers were paid.

Next the fall work was finished.

Fuel and food were stored for winter, while the cold crept from the lake, swept down the hill and surrounded the cabin.
The Harvester finished long days in the dry-house and store-room, and after supper he sat by the fire reading over the Girl's letters, carving on her candlesticks, or in the work room, bending above the boards he was shaving and polishing for a gift he had planned for her Christmas.
The Careys had him in their home for Thanksgiving.

He told them all about sending the Girl away himself, read them some of her letters, and they talked with perfect confidence of how soon she would come home.
The Harvester tried to think confidently, but as the days went by the letters became fewer, always with the excuse that there was no time to write, but with loving assurance that she was thinking of him and would do better soon.
However they came often enough that he had something new to tell his friends so that they did not suspect that waiting was a trial to him.