The face of the Harvester was eager and his tones appealing, as he leaned forward trying to make her understand.
“Certainly!” said the Girl as she bent to pat the dog, while she dried her eyes under cover of the movement. “Certainly! It can make no difference!”
But as the Harvester drew a deep breath of relief, she suddenly straightened to full height and looked straight at him.
“Oh what is the use to tell a pitiful lie!” she cried. “It does make a difference! It makes all the difference in the world! I need that money! I need it unspeakably. I owe a debt I must pay. What——what did I understand you to say ginseng is worth?”
“If you will take a few steps,” said the Harvester, “and make yourself comfortable on this log in the shade, I will tell you all I know about it.”
The girl walked swiftly to the log indicated, seated herself, and waited. The Harvester followed to a respectful distance.
“I can't tell to an ounce what wet roots would weigh,” he said as easily as he could command his voice to speak with the heart in him beating wildly, “and of course they lose greatly in drying; but I've handled enough that I know the weight I carried home will come to six pounds at the very least. Then you must figure on some loss, because I dug this before it really was ready. It does not reach full growth until September, and if it is taken too soon there is a decrease in weight. I will make that up to you when I return it.”
The troubled eyes were gazing on his face intently, and the Harvester studied them as he talked.
“You would think, then, there would be all of six pounds?
“Yes,” said the Harvester, “closer eight. When I replace the shrinkage there is bound to be over seven.”