She looked at him closely. He radiated health and good cheer. His tanned cheeks were flushed red with exercise, and the hair on his temples was damp.
“You have been breaking the rules,” he said. “It is the law that I am to do the work until you are well and strong again. Why did you tire yourself?”
“I am so perfectly useless! I see so many things that I would enjoy doing. Oh you can do everything else, make me well! Make me strong!”
“How can I, when you won't do as I tell you?”
“I will! Indeed I will!”
“Then no more attempts to stand over dishes and clean big floors. You mustn't overwork yourself at anything. The instant you feel in the least tired you must lie down and rest.”
“But Man! I'm tired every minute, with a dead, dull ache, and I don't feel as if I ever would be rested again in all the world.”
The Harvester took one of her hands, felt its fevered palm, fluttering wrist pulse, and noticed that the brilliant red of her lips had extended to spots on her cheeks. He formed his resolution.
“Can't work on that bridge any more until I drive in for some big nails,” he said. “Do you mind being left alone for an hour?”
“Not at all, if Bel will stay with me. I'll lie in the swing.”