“Man!” cried the Girl. “How can you? I'm not going to ask what another colour is. I'll just worship what I like in silence.”
“Will you forgive me if I tell you what a woman whose judgment I respect says about that colour?”
“Perhaps!”
“She says, 'God proves that He loves it best of all the tints in His workshop by using it first and most sparingly.' Now are you going to punish me by keeping silent?”
“I couldn't if I tried.” Just then they came upon the bridge crossing Singing Water, and there was a long view of its border, rippling bed, and marshy banks; while on the other hand the lake resembled a richly incrusted sapphire.
“Is the house close?”
“Just a few rods, at the turn of the drive.”
“Please help me down. I want to remain here a while. I don't care what else there is to see. Nothing can equal this. I wish I could bring down a bed and sleep here. I'd like to have a table, and draw and paint. I understand now what you mean about the designs you mentioned. Why, there must be thousands! I can't go on. I never saw anything so appealing in all my life.”
Now the Harvester's mother had designed that bridge and he had built it with much care. From bark-covered railings to solid oak floor and comfortable benches running along the sides it was intended to be a part of the landscape.
“I'll send Belshazzar to the cabin with the wagon,” he said, “so you can see better.”