He was warm, dirty, and tired when he came from the beds the evening of the fourth day.

He finished his work at the barn, prepared and ate his supper, slipped into clean clothing, and walked to the country road where it crossed the lane.

There he opened his mail box.

The letter he expected with the Philadelphia postmark was inside.

He carried it to the bridge, and sitting in her favourite place, with the lake breeze threading his hair, opened his first letter from the Girl.
"My dear Friend, Lover, Husband," it began.
The Harvester turned the sheets face down across his knee, laid his hand on them, and stared meditatively at the lake.