“I don't know,” said the Harvester. “They have not yet reached the one for whom they were intended. What I want you to do,” he said to the clerk, “is to go to the fitting room and dress the girl you find there for her wedding. She had other plans, but death disarranged them, and she has only an hour in which to meet the event most girls love to linger over for months. She has been ill, and is worn with watching; but some time she may look back to her wedding day with joy, and if only you would help me to make the best of it for her, I would be, as I said, under more obligations than I can express.”
“I will do anything,” said the clerk.
“Very well,” said the Harvester. “She has come from the country entirely unprepared. She is delicate and refined. Save her all the embarrassment you can. Dress her beautifully in white. Keep a memorandum slip of what you spend for my account.”
“What is the limit?” asked the clerk.
“There is none,” said the Harvester. “Put the prettiest things on her you have in the right sizes, and if you are a woman with a heart, be gentle!”
“Is she ready?” inquired the manager at the door an hour later.
“I am,” said the Girl stepping through.
The astounded Harvester stood and stared, utterly oblivious of the curious people.
“Here, here, here!” suddenly he whistled it, in the red bird's most entreating tones.
The Girl laughed and the colour in her face deepened.