So the Harvester left digging these roots until nearly the last, because he so disliked to disturb the bed.

He could not have done it if he had not been forced.
All of the demand for his fern never could be supplied.

Of his products none was more important to the Harvester because this formed the basis of one of the oldest and most reliable remedies for little children.

The fern had to be gathered with especial care, deteriorated quickly, and no staple was more subject to adulteration.
So he kept his bed intact, lifted the roots at the proper time, carefully cleaned without washing, rapidly dried in currents of hot air, and shipped them in bottles to the trade.

He charged and received fifteen cents a pound, where careless and indifferent workers got ten.
On the banks of Singing Water, at the head of the fern bed, the Harvester stood under a gray beech tree and looked down the swaying length of delicate green.