“I shall report the case,” said the Harvester instantly.
“You better not!” said the Girl. “There must be a mistake about you knowing my uncle. Tell me more of the flowers.”
The Harvester drew a deep breath and continued:
“These I just have named I take at bloom time; next month come purple thorn apple, jimson weed, and hemlock.”
“Isn't that poison?”
“Half the stuff I handle is.”
“Aren't you afraid?”
“Terribly,” said the Harvester in laughing voice. “But I want the money, the sick folk need the medicine, and I drink water.”
The Girl laughed also.
“Look here!” said the Harvester. “Why not tell me just as closely as you can about your aunt, and let me fix something for her; or if you are afraid to trust me, let me have my friend of whom I spoke yesterday.”