The Harvester crushed her in his arms until he frightened himself for fear he had hurt her, and murmured an ecstasy of indistinct love words to her. Presently her feet touched the ground and she drew away from him.
“Harvester,” she whispered, “I couldn't wait any longer; indeed I could not: and I couldn't leave grandfather and grandmother, and I didn't know what in the world to do, so I just brought them along. Are they welcome?”
“Aside from you, I would rather have them than any people on earth,” said the Harvester.
There were two sounds in the car; one was an approving murmur, and the other an undeniable snort. The Harvester felt the reassuring pressure of the Girl's hand.
“Please, Ruth,” he said, “go turn on the light so that I can see to help grandmother.”
A foot stamped before the front seat. “Madam Herron, if you please!” cried an acrid voice.
“'Madam Herron,'” said the Harvester gently, as he set a foot on the step, reached in and bodily picked up a little old lady and started up the walk with her in his arms.
“Careful there, sir!” roared a voice after him.
The Harvester could feel the quake of the laughing woman and he smiled broadly as he entered the cabin, and placed her in a large chair before the fire. Then he wheeled and ran back to the car, reaching it as the man was making an effort to descend. It could be seen that he had been tall, before time and sorrow had bent him, and keen eyes gleamed below shaggy white brows from under his hat brim. He had a white moustache, and his hair was snowy.
“Allow me,” said the Harvester reaching a hand.