for the lake. He plunged with a splash and swam vigorously
for a few minutes, his white body growing pink
under the sting of the chilled water. Over and over he
scanned the golden bridge to the moon, and stood an
instant dripping on the gravel of the landing to make sure
that no dream woman was crossing the wavering floor!
He rubbed to a glow and turned back the covers of his
bed. The door and window stood wide. Before he lay
down, the Harvester paused in arrested motion a second,
then stepped to the kitchen door and lifted the latch.

As the man drew the covers over him, the dog's nose
began making an opening, and a little later he quietly
walked into the room. The Harvester rested, facing
the lake. The dog sniffed at his shoulder, but the man
was rigid. Then the click of nails could be heard on the
floor as Belshazzar went to the opposite side. At his
accustomed place he paused and set one foot on the bed.
There was not a sound, so he lifted the other. Then
one at a time he drew up his hind feet and crouched as
he had on the gravel. The man lay watching the bright
bridge. The moonlight entered the window and flooded
the room. The strong lines on the weather-beaten face
of the Harvester were mellowed in the light, and he
appeared young and good to see. His lithe figure stretched
the length of the bed, his hair appeared almost white,
and his face, touched by the glorifying light of the moon,
was a study.

One instant his countenance was swept with ultimate