It was just one year from the day when she had taken that first
journey from West to East and met the pretty college girl on her
tearful way home to her soul’s trying that Mrs. Maxwell came back
from her sojourn in California. The business that had taken her there
had prolonged itself, and then unexpectedly the sick sister had
telegraphed that she was coming out to spend the winter, and wanted
her to remain; and because the sister had seemed to be in very great
need of her she had remained.
But now the sister was gaining rapidly, was fully able to be left
in the care of a nurse and the many friends with whom she was
surrounded, and Mrs. Maxwell had been summoned home for a great event.
As the train halted, at the college station, and a bevy of girls came
chattering round, bidding some comrade good-bye, she thought of the
day one year ago when she had been so interested in one girl, and
wondered whether her instincts concerning her had been true. She was
going home to attend that girl’s wedding now! That girl so soon to be
married to her dear and only son, and since that one brief afternoon
together she had never seen that little girl again.
Oh, there had been letters, of course, earnest, loving, welcoming
letters on the part of the mother, glad letters expressing joy at her
son’s choice and picturing the future in glowing colors; shy, sweet,
almost apologetic letters on the part of the girl, as if she had
presumed in accepting a love so great as that of this son; and the
mother had been glad, joyously glad, for was she not the first girl
she had ever laid eyes upon whose face looked as if she were sweet,
strong, and wise enough for her beloved son’s wife?
But now as she neared the place, and the meeting again was close at
hand, her heart began to misgive her. What if she had made a mistake?
What if this girl was not all those things that she had thought at
that first sight? What if Arthur, too, had been deceived, and the
girl would turn out to be frivolous, superficial, unlovely in her
daily life, unfine in soul and thought? For was she, the mother, not
responsible in a large way for this union of the two? Had she not
fairly thrown her son into the way of knowing the girl, and furthered
their first acquaintance in her letters in little subtle ways that
she hardly realized at the time, but that had come from the longing
of her soul to have a daughter just like what she fancied this girl
must be?
All the long miles she tortured her soul with these thoughts; and
then would come the memory of the sweet, sad, girlish face she had
watched a year ago, the strength, the character in the lovely profile
of firm little chin and well-set head, the idealism in the clear
eyes; and her heart would grow more sure. Then she would pray that
all might be well, and again take out her son’s last letter, and read
it over, especially the last few paragraphs.
“You will love her, mother of mine, for she is just your ideal. I
used to wonder how you were ever going to stand it when I did fall
in love, to find out the girl was not what you had dreamed I should
marry. For I honestly thought there were no such girls as you had
brought me up to look for. When I went to college and found what
modern girls were, I used to pity you sometimes when you found out,
too. But Cornelia is all and more than you would want. She goes
the whole limit of your desire, I believe, for she is notably a
Christian. I speak it very reverently, mother, because I have found
few that are, at least, that are recognizable as such; and generally
those have managed to make the fact unpleasant by the belligerent
way in which they flaunt it, and because of their utter crudeness
in every other way. Perhaps that isn’t fair, either. I have met a
few who seemed genuine and good, but they were mortally shy, and
never seemed to dare open their mouths. But this girl of mine is
rare and fine. She can talk, and she can work, and she can live. She
can be bright and gay, and she can suffer and strive; but she is a
regular girl, and yet she is a Christian. You should hear her lead a
Christian Endeavor meeting, striking right home to where everybody
lives, and acts, and makes mistakes, and is sorry or forgetful as the
case may be. You should hear her pray, leading everybody to the feet
of Christ to be forgiven and learn.
“Yes, mother, dear, she has led me there, too; and you have your
great wish. I have given myself to your Christ and her’s. I feel that
He is my Christ now, and I am going to try to live and work for His
cause all the rest of my life. For, to tell the truth, mother, the
Christ you lived and the Christ she lived was better than the best
thing on earth, and I had to give in. I was a fool that I didn’t do
it long ago, for I knew in my heart it was all true as you taught me,
even though I did get a lot of rot against it when I was in college;
but, when I saw a young girl with all of life before her giving
herself to Christian living this way, it finished me.
“So I guess you won’t feel badly about the way things turned out. And
anyway you must remember you introduced us, and sort of wished her on
me with those ferns; so you mustn’t complain. But I hope you’ll love
her as much as you do me, and we are just waiting for you to get back
for the ceremony, mother, dear; so don’t let anything hinder you by
the way, and haste the day! It cannot come too soon.”
She had telegraphed in answer to that letter that she would start
at once. The day had been set for the wedding, and all arrangements
made. Then a slight illness of her sister that looked more serious
than it really was had delayed her again; and here she was travelling
post-haste Philadelphiaward on the very day of the wedding, keeping
everybody on the _qui vive_ lest she would not get there in time and
the ceremony would have to be delayed. All these twelve months had
passed, and yet she had not seen the reconstructed little house on
the hill.
As she drew nearer the city, and the sun went down in the western
sky, her heart began to quiver with excitement, mature, calm mother
even though she was. But she had been a long time away against her
will from her only son, and her afternoon with Cornelia had been
very brief. Somehow she could not make it seem real that she was
really going to Arthur’s wedding that night, and not going to have an
opportunity to meet again the girl he was to marry until she was his
wife, and never to have met her people until it was over, a final,
a finished fact. She sighed a little wearily, and looked toward the
evening bars of sunset red and gold, with a wish, as mothers do when
hard pressed, that it were all over and she going home at last to
rest, and a feeling that her time was out.
Then right in the midst of it the brakeman touched her on the
shoulder and handed her a telegram, with that unerring instinct for
identity that such officials seem to have inborn.
With trembling fingers and a vague presentment she tore it open, and
read:
“Cornelia and I will meet you at West Philadelphia with a car and
take you to her home. Have arranged to have your trunk brought up
immediately from Broad Street, so you will have plenty of time to
dress. Take it easy, little mother; we love you. ARTHUR.”
Such a telegram! She sat back relieved, steadied her trembling lips,
and smiled. Smiled, and read it over again. What a boy to make his
bride come to the station to meet her two hours before the ceremony!
What a girl to be willing to come!
Suddenly the tears came rushing to her eyes, glad tears mingled
with smiles, and she felt enveloped in the love of her children.
Her boy and her girl! Think of it! She would have a daughter! And
she was a part of them; she was to be in the close home part of the
ceremony, the beforehand and the sweet excitement. They were waiting
for her and wanting her, and she was not just a necessary part of it
all because she was the groom’s mother; she was to stay his mother,
and be mother to the girl; and she would perhaps be a sister to the
girl’s mother, who was now also to be her boy’s mother. Now for
the first time the bitterness was taken out of that thought about
Arthur’s having another mother, and she was able to see how they two
mothers could love him together, if the other one should prove to be
the right kind of mother. And it now began to seem as if she must be
to have brought up a girl like Cornelia.
At that very moment in the little house on the hill four chattering
college-girl bridesmaids attired in four becoming silk negligees were
bunched together on Cornelia’s bed, supposed to be resting before
they dressed, while Cornelia, happy-eyed and calm, sat among them for
a few minutes’ reunion.
“Isn’t it awfully queer that you should be the first of the bunch to
get married?” burst forth Natalie, the most engaged and engaging of
the group. “I thought I was to be the very first myself right after I
graduated, and here we’ve had to put it off three times because Tom
lost his position. And Pearl broke her engagement, and Ruth’s gone
into business, and Jane is up to her eyes in music. It seems queer to
have things so different from what we planned, doesn’t it? My, how
we pitied you, Cornie, that day you had to leave. It seems an awful
shame you had to go home then, when such a little time would have
given you all that fun to remember. I don’t see why such things have
to happen anyway. I think it was just horrid you never graduated. I
don’t see why somebody couldn’t have come in here and taken care of
things till you got through. It meant so very much to you. You missed
so much, you know, that you can never, never make up.”
Cornelia from her improvised couch by the window smiled dreamily.
“Yes, but that was the day I met my new mother,” she said, almost as
if she had forgotten their existence and were speaking to herself;
“and she introduced me to Arthur. Probably I would never have seen
either of them if I hadn’t come home just that day.
A galaxy of eyes turned upon her, searching for romance, and studied
her sweet face greedily.
“Don’t pity her any more girls,” cried Natalie. “She’s dead in love
with him, and hasn’t missed us nor our commencement one little
minute. She walked straight into the land of romance that day when
she left us, and hasn’t thought of us since. I wonder she ever
remembered to invite us to the wedding. But I’m not surprised either.
If he’s half as stunning as his picture, he must be a pippin. I’m
dying to meet him! What kind of a prune is his mother? I think she
must be horrid to demand your presence at the station to meet her two
hours before the ceremony. I must say I’d make a kick at that.”
“Oh,” said Cornelia, a haughty color coming into her cheeks. “You
don’t understand. She didn’t demand! She doesn’t even know. Arthur
and I are surprising her. Arthur just sent a telegram to the train
for her to get off at the West Philadelphia station. She expected to
go on to Broad Street. Oh! she is the dearest mother; wait till you
see her.”
A tap at the door interrupted her, and Louise entered shyly. “Nellie,
dear, I hate to interrupt you; but that man, that Mr. Ragan, has
come; and he’s so anxious to see you just a minute mother said I
better tell you so you could send him down a message. It’s something
about the curtains for his house. I think he wants birds on them, or
else he doesn’t, I don’t know which. He’s so afraid you’ve already
ordered the material, and he wants it the way you said first, he
says.”
“That’s all right, darling; I think I’ll just run down and see him a
minute; he’s so anxious about his little house, and it will reassure
him if I explain about it. Tell him to wait just a minute till I slip
on my dress.”
A chorus of protests arose from the bed.
“For mercy’s sake, Cornie, you’re surely not going down to see a
man on business _now_! What on earth? Did you really get to be an
interior decorator, after all? You don’t _mean_ it! I thought you
were just kidding when you wrote about it. What do you mean? They’re
only poor people. Well, what do you care? You’re surely not going on
with such things after you’re married?”
Cornelia, flinging the masses of her hair into a lovely coil,
and fastening the snaps of her little blue organdie, smiled again
dreamily.
“Arthur likes it,” she said. “He wants me to go on. You see we
both regard it, not exactly altogether as a business, but as
something that is going to help uplift the world. I’ve done two
really big houses, and they’ve been successful; and I have had good
opportunities opening, so that I could really get into a paying
business if I chose, I think. But I don’t choose. Oh, I may do a fine
house now and then if I get the chance, just to keep my hand in, for
I enjoy putting rich and beautiful things together in the right way;
but what I want is to help poor people do little cheap houses, and
make them look pretty and comfortable and really artistic. So many
don’t have pretty homes who would realty like them if they only knew
how! Now, this man I’m going down to now is just a poor laborer; but
he has been saving up his money to make a nice home for his girl, and
he heard about me, and came to me to help him. I’ve been having the
best fun picking out his things for him. I won’t get a great fee out
of it; indeed, I hate to take anything; only he wouldn’t like that,
but it’s been great! Arthur and I have been together out to see the
little cottage twice, and arranged the new chairs for him; and I even
made up the beds, and showed him how to set the table for their first
meal. They are to be married next week, and he’s so worried lest the
stuff I ordered for curtains won’t get here in time to finish his
dining-room. But mother is going to finish them; and Harry and Carey
will put them up; and I want to tell him, so he will not worry.”
With a bright smile Cornelia left them, and flew downstairs to her
customer.
“Goodness, girls! did you ever see such a change in any one? I can’t
make her out, can you?” cried Jane, sitting up on the foot of the bed
and looking after her.
“I should say not?” declared Pearl. “What do you suppose has come
over her? I suppose it’s being in love or something, although that
doesn’t generally make a girl do slum work at a busy time like this.
But I guess we wasted our pity on her. She said she was coming home
to a horrid, poor little house. Did you ever see such a pretty nest
of a house in your life? That living room is a dream. I’m crazy to
get back to it and look it over again.”
“Well, I never thought Cornie Copley would turn out to be that kind
of a nut. Think of her going to the station to meet her mother-in-law
just before the ceremony! Love certainly is blind. Girls you needn’t
ever worry lest I’ll do anything of that kind, not me!” cried
Natalie. “That man must be some kind of a nut himself, or else she’s
been all made over somehow.”
Jane tiptoed, and shut the door; and then in a whisper she said:
“Girls, I want to tell you. I believe it’s religion. It’s queer, but
I believe it is. I heard her talking about praying for somebody down
in the hall when I stood up here waiting for my trunk to be unlocked
by her brother. She was talking to her little sister, and they both
seemed to be praying for something or somebody; and she’s mentioned
the church every other breath since we came, and the minister,
and—look at there! There’s her Bible with her name in it. I opened
it, and looked, and _he_ gave it to her; ‘Cornelia from Arthur’;
that’s what it says. And see that card framed over the table? It’s a
Christian Endeavor pledge-card. I know for I used to belong when I
was a child. She’s going to have the Christian Endeavor society all
at the wedding, too. I heard her say the Christian Endeavor chorus
was going to sing the wedding march before they came in, and she
talks about the minister’s daughter all the time. You may depend on
it, it’s religion that’s the matter with Cornie, not being in love.
Cornie’s a level-headed girl, and she wouldn’t go out of her head
this way just for falling in love. When religion gets into the blood
it’s ten times worse than any falling in love ever. I wonder what her
Arthur thinks of it. Maybe he means to take it out of her when he
gets her good and tied.”
“Don’t!” said Ruth sharply. “You make me sick, Jane. I don’t care
what it is that has changed Cornie. She’s sweet, I know; that’s all
that’s necessary. And, if it’s religion, I wish we all had some of
it. I know she looks all the time as if she’d seen a vision, and
that’s what precious few other people do. Come, it’s time to take a
nap, or we’ll look like withered leaves for this evening. Now stop
talking! I’m going to sleep.”
The passengers in the parlor-car glanced at the distinguished-looking
lady with the sweet smile and happy eyes, and glanced again, and
liked to look, there was such joy, such content, such expectancy,
in her face. More than one, as the train slowed down at West
Philadelphia, and the porter gathered her baggage and escorted her
out, sat up from his velvet chair and stretched his neck to see who
was meeting this woman to make her so happy since that telegram had
been brought to her. They watched until the train passed on and they
could see no more—the tall, handsome young man who took her in his
arms and kissed her, and the lovely girl in blue organdie with a
little lace-edged organdie hat drooping about her sweet face, who
greeted her as if she loved her. As far as the eye could reach Mrs.
Maxwell’s fellow passengers watched the little bit of human drama,
and wondered, and tried to figure out who they were and what relation
they bore to one another.
“You precious child, you shouldn’t have done it!” said Mrs. Maxwell,
nestling Cornelia’s hand in her own as her son stowed them away in
the back seat of the car together and whirled them away to the Copley
house. “But it was dear of you, and I shall never forget it!” she
said fervently with another squeeze of the hand.
A few moments more, and she entered the living room that had been
wrought out with such care and anxiety, and gazed about her,
delighted.
“I knew you would do it, dear. I knew it! I was sure you could,” she
whispered with her arm around the girl; and then she went forward
with a sigh of relief to meet the sweet mother of the Copleys, who
came to greet her. The two mothers looked long into each other’s
eyes, with hands clasped and keen, loving, searching looks; and then
a smile grew on both their faces. Mother Maxwell spoke first with a
smile of content:
“I was almost sure you would be like that,” she said; “and I’m going
to love you a great deal”; and Mother Copley, her face placid with
a calm that had its source in deep springs of peace, smiled back an
answering love.
Then came father Copley, and grasped the other mother’s hand, and
bade her welcome too; and after that mother Maxwell was satisfied,
and went to dress for the wedding.
The four bridesmaids did not see much of Cornelia, after all;
for, when she came back from her ride, they were all breathlessly
manipulating curling-irons and powder-puffs, tying sashes, and
putting on pretty slippers; and no one had time to talk of other
things. It seemed to be only Cornelia who was calm at this last
minute, who knew where the shoe-horn had been put, could find a
little gold pin to fasten a refractory ribbon, and had time to fix a
drooping wave of hair or adjust a garland of flowers.
It had been Cornelia’s wish that her wedding should be very simple
and inexpensive; and, though the bridesmaids had written many letters
persuading and suggesting rainbow hues and dahlia shades, and finally
pleaded for jades and corals, all was to no effect. Cornelia merely
smiled, and wrote back: “I want you all in white, if you please, just
simple white organdie, made with a deep hem and little ruffles; and
then I want you to have each a garland of daisies around your hair,
and daisies in your arms.”
“White for bridesmaids!” they cried as one maid. “Who ever heard of
such a thing?”
But the answer came back: “This isn’t going to be a conventional
wedding. We’re just going to get married, and we want our dearest
friends about us. I love white, and the daisies will be lovely on it
and do away with hats. I’m going to wear a veil. I like a veil; but
my dress is white organdie, too, and I’ll have white roses.”
And so it was, all natural and sweet like an old-fashioned country
affair, and not one convention out of a thousand observed in the
order and form of things.
For the bride herself had decked the church with the aid of her
bridegroom and her brother and Grace Kendall. The lace-like boughs of
tall hemlocks drooped back of the altar, and smothered the pulpit;
and against it rose a waving field of daisies with grasses softly
blending. The little field-flowers were arranged in concealed glass
jars of water so that they kept fresh and beautiful, and were so
massed that they seemed to be growing there. All about the choir
gallery the daisies were massed, a bit of nature transplanted to the
quiet temple. Every one exclaimed softly on entering the church at
the wonderful effect of the feathery, starry beauty. It was as if a
bit of the out-of-door world had crept into the sanctuary to grace
the occasion. God’s world and God’s flowers of the field.
There were not many mighty among the guests. A choice few of the
Maxwell and Copley connection and friends; the rest were new
acquaintances, of all stations in life, all trades and professions,
many humble worshippers in the church whom Cornelia and Maxwell had
come to respect and love.
The two mothers came in together, and sat down side by side, attended
by Harry and his father. Harry had most strenuously objected to being
of the wedding party when it was suggested. He said he “couldn’t see
making a monkey of himself, all dolled up, going up the church aisle
to music.”
Grace Kendall was at the organ, of course, and above the
daisy-bordered gallery the Christian Endeavor choir girls all in
white, with wreaths of green leaves in their hair, sang the bridal
chorus; and from the doors at either side of the front of the church
there filed forth the bridesmaids and the ushers. The bridesmaids
were led by Louise as maid of honor, with a wreath of daisies among
her curls and a garland of daisies trailing down from her left
shoulder over the little white organdie that made her look like a
young angel. Carey as best man led the ushers, who were four warm
friends of Maxwell’s; and on either side of the altar they waited,
facing toward the front door as Cornelia and Maxwell came arm in arm
up the middle aisle together.
It was all quite natural and simple, though the bridesmaids were
disappointed at the lack of display and the utter disregard of
convention and precedent.
The minister spoke the service impressively, and added a few words
of his own that put the ceremony quite out of the ordinary; and his
prayer seemed to bring God quite near among them, as if He had come
especially to bless this union of His children. Mother Maxwell’s
heart suddenly overflowed with happy tears, and the four bridesmaids
glanced furtively and knowingly at one another beneath their garlands
of daisies, as if to say, “It is religion, after all; and this is
where she got it”; and then they began to listen and to wonder for
themselves.
After it was over the bride and the groom turned smilingly and walked
back down the aisle, preceded by Louise and Carey, and followed by
the bridesmaids and ushers; and everybody rose and smiled, and broke
the little hush of breathless attention with a soft murmur of happy
approval.
“Such a pretty wedding, so sweet! so dear!” Mother Maxwell could hear
them breathing it on every hand as she walked out with Mother Copley.
Then just a chosen few came home to the wedding supper, which had
been planned and partly prepared by Cornelia herself; and everybody
was talking about the lovely wedding and the quiet, easy way in which
everything moved without fuss or hurry or excitement, right and
natural and as it all should be when two persons joined hands and
walked out together into the new life.
“It is something inside her that makes her different,” hazarded a
sleepy bridesmaid several hours later, after the others had been
still a long time and were almost asleep. “But wasn’t it lovely? Only
field-daisies and the grass and old pine-trees; but it certainly was
a dream even if we didn’t get to do much marching. Well, Cornelia
Copley always did know how to decorate.”
The Novels of Grace Livingston Hill
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
Many thousands of readers have found inspiration and happiness in
reading the novels of Grace Livingston Hill. In her charming romances
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Amorelle
The Ransom
Patch of Blue
Kerry
The Chance of a Lifetime
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Blue Ruin
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Duskin
Crimson Roses
Out of the Storm
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Job’s Niece
A New Name
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The Beloved Stranger
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Cloudy Jewel
Dawn of the Morning
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Exit Betty
The Finding of Jasper Holt
The Girl from Montana
Lo, Michael
The Man of the Desert
Marcia Schuyler
Phoebe Deane
The Red Signal
Tomorrow About This Time
The Tryst
The Witness
Not Under the Law
The White Flower
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AMERICAN FAMILY
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MAKE BELIEVE
TODAY’S VIRTUE
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THE RADIANT TREE. Unusual short stories in which Miss Bailey shows
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ENCHANTED GROUND. The story of the love of young Dr. Peter Ferry for
Mary Hamilton, with her bright beauty and her desperate need of his
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LITTLE GIRL LOST. Youth, beauty, the adoration of two men were
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WILD WIND. A girl’s sacrifice for the children of her sister is the
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BURNING BEAUTY. Beautiful Virginia Oliphant is loved by two men; one
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SILVER SLIPPERS. Days of delight and disillusionment until Joan
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WALL FLOWERS. They were twins, they were “Wall Flowers” perhaps—but
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THE BLUE WINDOW. Hildegarde finds herself transplanted from the
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PEACOCK FEATHERS. Jerry, the idealist, loves Mimi, a beautiful
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TRUMPETER SWAN. Randy Paine came back from France to the monotony of
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THE TIN SOLDIER. Derry wishes to serve his country but is bound
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MISTRESS ANNE. Into the life of Anne came two men; one is weak and
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CONTRARY MARY. An old fashioned love story that has a very modern
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ELMER GANTRY
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ARROWSMITH
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the heights of the medical profession, through the tests of love and
marriage and to final peace as a quietly heroic laboratory worker.
BABBITT
Every man will recognize in the character of George Babbitt something
of himself. He was a booster and a joiner, but behind all of his
activities was a wistful wonder as to what life holds.
MAIN STREET
An absorbing drama of real life in the average small town as seen
through the eyes of an impressionable young girl who married the
local doctor.
GROSSET & DUNLAP _Publishers_ NEW YORK
FASCINATING NOVELS
By RUBY M. AYRES
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
Ruby M. Ayres wrote fairy tales as a child but did not start writing
in earnest until she was about twenty-five years of age. Today she is
one of the most popular authors along with Margaret Pedler and Ethel
M. Dell of the romantic novel of love and marriage.
LOVE IS SO BLIND
Jo was twenty years younger than her husband and wanted some fun and
just a little love. How she got more than she bargained for makes an
appealing romance.
FROM THIS DAY FORWARD
The heart stirring story of Willow who married unromantic Bob the day
she lost Peter and her job—only to have Peter reenter her life later.
ALWAYS TOMORROW
Sally had always dreamed of being Durie’s wife—so when the chance
came she proposed to him, even though she knew he loved Lilian.
COME TO MY WEDDING
“Come to my wedding,” Gyp Farrow invited David when she was nine. But
when she was nineteen ... a delightful romance of beleaguered young
lovers.
THAN THIS WORLD DREAMS OF
A tender and warm-hearted romance of three in love.
ALL OVER AGAIN
Is first love the best love? As a little girl she had loved him—and
now when she was grown up and a married woman—she still loved him.
She was married to Geoffry—but this was the man she loved—the man to
whom she belonged.
MUCH LOVED
Breckie felt lonely and unloved. She decided that money was
the only thing that mattered. She thought that Jim Cromer, a
wealthy dilettante would be her way out, until Simon Wood and a
foolish mongrel dog entered her life one rainy Wednesday. A story
delightfully told.
GROSSET & DUNLAP _Publishers_ NEW YORK
Emilie Loring’s Fascinating Novels
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.
“Refreshing”—is the word which best describes Mrs. Loring’s
delightful romances. There is always a fascinating plot twist and her
characters are the kind of high-spirited people you’d like to meet in
real life.
WE RIDE THE GALE!
Michael fell in love with his sister-in-law at first sight, but she
detested anyone by the name of Farr.
UNCHARTED SEAS
A romance of the turf world, of Sandra Duval, torn between love and
loyalty, and the strange phantom of the old stone house.
HILLTOPS CLEAR
Prudence Schuyler distrusted all wealthy young men and Rodney Gerard
had a hard time proving he was an exception.
FAIR TOMORROW
Against a background of the incomparable Cape Cod, the life lines of
Pamela and Scott cross the tangle.
LIGHTED WINDOWS
The dramatic romance of a young engineer and a beautiful society
girl, with the wilds of Alaska as a setting.
SWIFT WATER
The story of a high-spirited, impetuous girl who fell in love with a
man against her will.
GAY COURAGE
Geoffrey returns home after many years of aimless drifting to find
adventure far beyond his expectations.
A CERTAIN CROSSROAD
When Judith and Neil met at a certain crossroad neither suspected the
thrilling events in store for them.
THE SOLITARY HORSEMAN
Because of a fatal accident, Tony renounced wealth and started life
anew. Romance and adventure in New England.
THE TRAIL OF CONFLICT
Stephen marries Geraldine to save his father from financial ruin and
then the two struggle to find a way to happiness.
GROSSET & DUNLAP _Publishers_ NEW YORK
Transcriber’s Notes
pg 9 Changed: for Louise is workng too hard
to: for Louise is working too hard
pg 22 Changed: Copley rose stifly
to: Copley rose stiffly
pg 132 Changed: tremblingly put in her nickle
to: tremblingly put in her nickel
pg 144 Changed: from the last sunshinny day
to: from the last sunshiny day
pg 170 Changed: Oh, but there’re awful expensive
to: Oh, but they’re awful expensive
pg 179 Changed: emitting a subtile fragrance
to: emitting a subtle fragrance
pg 215 Changed: Say your car out the window
to: Saw your car out the window
pg 225 Changed: that’t all I know
to: that’s all I know
pg 272 Changed: should’t tell her troubles
to: shouldn’t tell her troubles
pg 328 Changed: peals of racuous laughter
to: peals of raucous laughter
pg 355 Changed: and for desert ice-cream
to: and for dessert ice-cream