He sang it through at the top of his lungs, that majestic old hymn, but there was no music at all, it was simply a roar. By and by he came soberly to the barn and paused to stroke Betsy's nose.
“Stop chewing grass and listen to me,” he said. “She's here, Betsy! She's in our cabin. She's going to remain, you can stake your oats on that. She's going to be the loveliest and sweetest girl in all the world, and because you're a beast, I'll tell you something a man never could know. Down with your ear, you critter! She's going to kiss me, Betsy! This very night, before I lay me, her lips meet mine, and maybe you think that won't be glorious. I supposed it would be a year, anyway, but it's now! Ain't you glad you are an animal, Betsy, and can keep secrets for a fool man that can't?”
He walked down the driveway, and before the Girl had a chance to speak, he said, “I wonder if I had not better carry those things into your room, and arrange your bed for you.”
“I can,” she said.
“Oh no!” exclaimed the Harvester. “You can't lift the mattress and heavy covers. Hold the door and tell me how.”
He laid a big bundle on the floor, opened it, and took out the shoes.
“Your shoe box is in the closet there.”
“I didn't know what that door was, so I didn't open it.”
“That is a part of my arrangements for you,” said the Harvester. “Here is a closet with shelves for your covers and other things. They are bare because I didn't know just what should be put on them. This is the shoe box here in the corner; I'll put these in it now.”
He knelt and in a row set the shoes in the curly maple box and closed it.