“There, there! Of course!” said the Harvester soothingly. “I'll do it as soon as I possibly dare. You don't understand, honey. You are yet delicate beyond measure, internally. The fever burned so long. Every morsel you eat is measured and cooked in sterilized vessels, and I'd be scared of my life to have the girl undertake it.”
“Why she is doing it straight along now! She and Granny! Molly isn't out of Doctor Harmon's sight long enough to cook anything. Granny says there is 'a lot of buncombe about what they do, and she is going to tell them so right to their teeth some of these days, if they badger her much more,' and I wish she would, and you, too.”
The Harvester gathered the Girl to him in one crushing bear hug.
“For the love of Heaven, Ruth, you drive me crazy! Answer me just one question. When you told me that you 'adored and worshipped' Doctor Harmon, did you mean it, or was that the delirium of fever?”
“I don't know WHAT I told you! If I said I 'adored' him, it was the truth. I did! I do! I always will! So do I adore the Almighty, but that's no sign I want him to read poetry to me, and be around all the time when I am wild for a minute with you. I can worship Doctor Harmon in Chicago or Onabasha quite as well. Fire him! If you don't, I will!”
“Good Lord!” cried the Harvester, helpless until the Girl had to cling to him to prevent rolling from his nerveless arms. “Ruth, Ruth, will you feel my pulse?”
“No, I won't! But you are going to drop me. Take me straight back to my beautiful new bed, and send them away.”
“A minute! Give me a minute!” gasped the Harvester. “I couldn't lift a baby just now. Ruth, dear, I thought you LOVED the man.”
“What made you think so?”
“You did!”