I know the girls of to-day. I pass them on the roads, on
the streets, see them in the cafe's, stores, and at the library.
Why even the nurses at the hospital, for all the gravity
of their positions, are a giggling, silly lot; and they never
know that the only time they look and act presentably to
me is when they stop their chatter, put on their uniforms,
and go to work. Some of them are pretty, then.
There's a little blue-eyed one, but all she needs is feathers
to make her a `ha! ha! bird.' Drat that dog!''

The Harvester took the candlestick and the box of
knives, opened the door, and returned to the stoop. Belshazzar
arose, pleading in his eyes, and cautiously advanced
a few steps. The man bent over his work and
paid not the slightest heed, so the discouraged dog sank to
earth and fixedly watched the unresponsive master. The
carving of the candlestick went on steadily. Occasionally
the Harvester lifted his head and repeatedly sucked his
lungs full of air. Sometimes for an instant he scanned
the surface of the lake for signs of breaking fish or splash
of migrant water bird. Again his gaze wandered up the
steep hill, crowned with giant trees, whose swelling buds
he could see and smell. Straight before him lay a low
marsh, through which the little creek that gurgled and
tumbled down hill curved, crossed the drive some distance
below, and entered the lake of Lost Loons.

While the trees were bare, and when the air was clear as
now, he could see the spires of Onabasha, five miles away,
intervening cultivated fields, stretches of wood, the long