THE TRIAL
What one man knew in Mayville was every man’s property. Gossip always
spread through the town like wildfire. So it happened that on the morning
of the arrival of the _Nancy Jane_ and the _Spray_ there was a buzzing
and a shaking of heads and a wagging of tongues; and before long the
whole town knew that something of vast importance was about to take place
up at Squire Ellis’s court.
“It’s those young fellows that set the hotel afire over across at
Southport,” said a certain tall, gaunt individual, who happened to be the
centre of an excited group on one of the street corners, near the town
pump. “I hear as how Squire Barker is going to defend them, but they do
say he’s got no case, because I heard Lem Stevens say as he heard Squire
Brackett declare he saw them young chaps down in the billiard-room of the
hotel along about midnight, and the fire started pretty quick after
that.”
“Well, guess they’ll catch it if Squire Brackett is on their trail,”
volunteered another of the group. “He ain’t given to showing kindness to
anybody, much less to a lot of firebugs.”
“I don’t believe they ever done it, anyway,” ventured a third. “They
don’t seem like that kind, from all I can learn, and they do say as how
they pitched in and saved a lot of Colonel Witham’s boarders from being
burned in their beds, when the flames was a-spreadin’ fast.”
And so the gossip waged, this way and that, while impatient knots of
idlers hung around the entrance to Squire Ellis’s court, waiting for ten
o’clock, when proceedings should begin.
Shortly before the old town clock beat out the ten solemn strokes that
proclaimed the formal sitting of justice, a whisper ran along the line of
loiterers, “Here he comes. It’s the judge.” And that person of great
importance, a short, thick-set man, with a quick, nervous step, an
energetic, sharp manner, but, withal, a kindly eye, entered the
court-room. The next moment the clock announced his punctuality.
The crowd swarmed into the court-room, stuffy and hot enough already, and
the air vibrated with expectancy.
Proceeding up the long village street at this moment was a little group,
headed by Captain Sam, not wholly unimpressed with the importance of his
own part in the affair, the boys and Mrs. Warren following, and, not far
in the rear, the colonel and the squire. Just as they reached the
court-room door, Captain Sam halted the little party for a moment, and,
not without reluctance, said: “Well, boys, I suppose I’ll have to serve
these ’ere warrants before we go inside. I’m free to say I’m sorry to do
it, but they’re the orders of this ’ere honourable court, and they must
be obeyed by me, a sworn officer of the law.”
And having disposed of this somewhat painful formality, Captain Sam
opened the door and the party were in court.
Presently they were joined by Squire Barker, a sober, elderly,
clerical-looking lawyer, dressed in a somewhat rusty suit of black,
serious-minded, whose lugubrious manner was not calculated to infuse a
spirit of cheer into hearts that were sinking.
The county attorney, who was to conduct the case for the people of the
State, a youthful attorney, of comparatively recent admission to
practice, bustled about as became a functionary with the burden of an
important matter upon his shoulders.
The court-room, save for the buzzing of innumerable flies upon the
uncleaned window-panes, was still as a church when His Honour announced
that the court was now open for whatsoever matters the county attorney
had to bring before it.
After the usual formality of acquainting His Honour officially of the
matter in hand, which matter His Honour was already as much acquainted
with as a thousand and one busy tongues of gossip could make him, the
likewise formal answer of “Not guilty” was returned, and, without further
delay, Colonel Witham was called to the stand.
The colonel, fully awake to his opportunity, took the stand rather
pompously, thrust a well-filled, expansive waistband to the front, whence
there dangled from a waistcoat pocket a ponderous gold chain, plentifully
adorned with trinkets, in the handling of which, as he testified, a large
seal ring on a finger of his right hand was ostentatiously displayed.
Yes,—in answer to questions,—he was the lessee of the Bayview Hotel on
the 10th of September last, on which day it was burned to the ground;
and, if he did say it, there was no better conducted hotel along the
shores of Samoset Bay.
Suggestion by His Honour that he please answer the questions as put, and
reserve his own personal opinions and convictions to himself, received by
the colonel with evident surprise and some little loss of dignity.
Then the colonel detailed, so far as he knew them, the events of the
night of the fire; how he was first aroused by the cry of “Fire!” and how
the first persons he encountered—within his very hotel, in fact—were the
accused; how the smoke was even then pouring up from the basement
windows, and that upon investigation he had found the whole basement
floor to be on fire, so that it was already far beyond control.
Then there followed a detailed account of the fire, of the destruction of
this section and that, and, finally, the utter collapse and ruin of the
entire structure, with all that it had contained. The colonel did the
scene full justice in his description, making an unmistakable impression
on the minds of the assembled townsfolk.
Asked if he had seen any suspicious characters in or about the hotel on
the day or night of the fire, the colonel said he had not; nor had any
stranger who had not been subsequently accounted for come ashore from the
steamers on that day.
Leaving at length the subject of the fire, County Attorney Perkins came
down to the subject of the attempt to serve the warrants upon the boys at
the camp and at the Warren cottage, the failure, the subsequent pursuit
of the boys down the bay in the _Nancy Jane_, and the final surrender of
the yacht _Spray_ in the middle of the bay.
It was clear that this part of the evidence would have great weight with
the court. After the attorney’s questions he put several of his own,
regarding the escape from Little Reach, and whether it must have been
clear to the boys in the yacht that they were being pursued.
It was this testimony that made Mr. Warren breathe hardest, and put his
hand to his head with a troubled look.
Squire Barker’s cross-examination was brief, but he made two telling
points, which might have their influence. One was, that the boys had been
very brave on the night of the fire, and had undoubtedly saved many
lives. This the colonel reluctantly had to admit. The other, and far more
important point, was the bringing out that early on the morning of the
fire the colonel had seen that the yacht _Surprise_ was absent from her
moorings, whereas the colonel had seen her lying there the afternoon
preceding.
“Was it not common talk in the village that Harvey and his crew were
missing the very morning after the fire?” inquired Squire Barker.
“It was,” answered the colonel.
“And did you not see all of the accused about the village for the entire
day following the fire?”
“Yes.”
There was a buzz in the court-room, which indicated that this point had
told.
“And is it not true,” continued Squire Barker, “that this Jack Harvey and
his crew have not yet returned, are still missing?”
The colonel said he believed such was the case.
Asked why he had not secured their arrest, he responded that he felt sure
he was on the right track, as he would prove by his witness, Squire
Brackett.
And Squire Brackett, nothing loath, was the next witness. Having brought
out, what everybody knew, that the squire was a property owner and a man
of importance in his own village, the county attorney asked:
“And where were you shortly after midnight on the night of September
10th?”
“I was passing the Hotel Bayview on my way to the shore.”
“What did you see as you neared the hotel?”
“I saw a light in the billiard-room window, and went to the window and
looked in.”
“Did you see any one in there?”
“I did.”
“And who were they?”
“These accused,” and the squire named in turn each of the six boys and
pointed them out in court.
They, feeling the eyes of all turned toward them, the awful stillness of
the court-room for the moment following the squire’s declaration, and
oppressed more than ever by the hot, choking atmosphere of the stuffy
little court, turned white and red by turns, wished that the floor would
open beneath their feet and swallow them, and felt a burning sensation in
their throats as though they were stifling.
“And how soon did you see flames coming up from the location of the
hotel?”
“I could not say exactly; it might have been half an hour. I was out in
the bay in my sloop.”
“Had you seen any suspicious characters in the village on that day?”
“I had not.”
Then the squire also recounted the events of the pursuit of the yacht
_Spray_, the escape through Little Reach, and the subsequent surrender of
the boys.
From Squire Barker it was brought out, as in the testimony of the
colonel, the fact that after Harvey and his crew in the yacht _Surprise_
had suddenly set sail on the very morning of the fire, they had not been
seen nor heard of since. This, the squire admitted, was common knowledge
throughout the village.
Then there came to the stand Captain Sam, standing awkwardly, with a hard
clutch on the rail in front of him, as if he were afraid of the
court-house suddenly dipping and rolling on a breaker and spilling him
overboard.
No, he had no objection to removing his tobacco in deference to the
Court, and did so; but forgot that august presence before he had been
testifying long, and took another and a bigger chew.
Did he know the accused?
Reckoned he did, with a haw-haw that shook the court-room.
Had he pursued them in his sloop the _Nancy Jane_, in an endeavour to
serve the warrants?
He had, and they worked their boat like sailors, if he did say it.
“And were you assisted in your pursuit by Colonel Witham and Squire
Brackett?”
“Assisted!” drawled Captain Sam, and grinning from ear to ear. “Well, I
dunno how much assisting you’d be pleased to call it, being as they were
sick as a boy that had eaten a peck of green apples, and was sprawling
around in the bottom of the boat like a couple of halibut just catched.”
Which, being pronounced by Captain Sam with the utmost gravity, produced
such a decided impression on the audience of fisher-people and
sailor-folk, that there was a roar throughout the court-room, at which
His Honour announced that any such further interruption would be followed
by the clearing of the room.
The squire and the colonel turned red in the face and looked rather
foolish, inwardly wishing that Captain Sam was at the bottom of the bay.
Captain Sam, under further questioning, told again the story of that
afternoon’s sailing, mentioning casually that the colonel had requested
to be set ashore when the _Nancy Jane_ was out in the middle of the bay,
which request, as Captain Sam explained, there being no land near by
excepting that straight down under water, he was unable to grant.
Another titter through the court-room, the colonel and the squire
blushing redder than ever.
It was embarrassing enough to Captain Sam to tell how he had put the
_Nancy Jane_ aground in Little Reach, for he knew there was scarce a man
or boy within the sound of his voice who wouldn’t vow to himself that, if
he had been in Captain Sam’s place, he would have known better. It was
really mortifying.
Squire Barker made the most of this, not because it could help his
clients, but because it served in its way to put one of the people’s
witnesses in a ridiculous light, and because it gave him a chance to show
how smart a cross-examiner he could be, thereby elevating himself in the
eyes and admiration of his townsfolk.
“So you got aground where these young men took their boat through all
right, did you?” queried Squire Barker.
“I got aground,” snapped Captain Sam, sharply.
“And these young men took their boat through safe and sound?”
“I don’t know,” roared Captain Sam. “I didn’t see them.”
“But you saw them just a few minutes before that, didn’t you?”
“Guess I did.”
“And when you got to the entrance they were nowhere in sight, and
therefore must have sailed through; they couldn’t have dragged the
_Spray_ over the rocks?”
“Suppose not.”
The colonel and the squire were rather enjoying this, and had plucked up
spirits enough to titter with the rest at the discomfiture of Captain
Sam.
“Then you tried to imitate these young men and go through as they did,
but you didn’t seem to know the channel, and so got aground?”
“Channel!” roared Captain Sam, bellowing out the word in a rage and
shaking a fist at the squire. “Channel, did you say? Haven’t I told you
there wasn’t enough channel there to wash a sheep in? Didn’t I tell these
two thick-headed numskulls”—pointing to the colonel and the squire—“that
we’d get aground if we went in there? And didn’t they snarl at me like
two old women, and accuse me of letting them ’ere boys get away? Didn’t I
know we’d get aground in there, and didn’t these two seasick old
pussy-cats make me go ahead and do it?”
Captain Sam, beside himself with indignation, roared this out so his
voice could be heard far out in the street. In vain the court rapped for
order. The whole court-room was convulsed, and, finally, His Honour,
overcome with the situation, leaned back in his chair and laughed too.
Only the colonel and the squire, the butt of all the merriment, looked
alternately at the floor and the ceiling, and mopped their faces with
handkerchiefs as red as their cheeks.
At length, when order was restored, Judge Ellis said: “Captain Sam, you
are excused. You are in contempt of court. The case will proceed without
testimony from you.”
At which Captain Sam, feeling that he had in a measure vindicated his
name and reputation, got down from the stand in a somewhat better frame
of mind.
There followed several of the hotel guests, who had been duly summonsed
to tell what they knew of the early stages of the fire, and whether they
had seen any suspicious characters about the hotel or the village on that
day. They made it very clear, together with the testimony of some of the
villagers, that there had been no strange person seen in the town either
on that day or the preceding or the following day, all of which argued,
of course, that, if the fire was set, it was set by some one in the town,
who was more or less known to every one.
On the other hand, it was definitely established by Squire Barker that
Harvey and his crew had set sail in the _Surprise_ while the hotel was
still blazing furiously, for there were two of the villagers who lived
down the island several miles from the hotel who testified to seeing the
_Surprise_ beating down alongshore about daylight.
This was highly important, and yet the one essential thing was lacking,
nor could it be supplied by any evidence at hand, that Harvey or any one
of his crew had been seen about the hotel that night.
It was noon now, and time for recess. So His Honour announced an
adjournment to half-past two that afternoon, and the crowd swarmed
out-of-doors, leaving the flies in undisputed possession of the unclean
windows.
It was hard for the boys to realize that at last they were under
restraint; that they were not free to follow the crowd of villagers and
their friends. The seriousness of the situation assumed an even more
depressing aspect.
“Do you think he will hold them?” asked Mr. Warren, anxiously, of Squire
Barker, as the little party, under the nominal charge of Captain Sam, sat
in the anteroom of the court-house, trying to partake of a luncheon which
had been provided, but for which nobody seemed to have any appetite.
“Well, I can’t say,” answered the squire, wisely. “But I’m a little
afraid of it. I’m just a little afraid. You see, their getting into the
hotel and being there just before the fire can’t be denied. And I suppose
that His Honour will hold that it was really breaking and entering to get
into the hotel in the night-time in the way they did. And then, even
though it may have been accidental, the setting the fire, still, as it
followed and grew out of their unlawful act, they can be held for setting
the hotel on fire.”
This sentence, somewhat involved as it was, but delivered with sageness
and an ominous shake of the head, set the boys to breathing hard, and
more than one of them found himself swallowing a lump in his throat.
“But there isn’t the slightest evidence that we set the fire,” said young
Joe.
“Yes,” answered the squire; “there’s what they call circumstantial
evidence, and that is, the fact of your being in there just before it was
discovered. It may not be enough to convict on, but the question that’s
bothering now is, will it be enough to hold you over on, and I’m bound to
say it does look just a little bad. However, we won’t give up. We’ll
fight it out to the last.”
But just what there was to fight it out on, not one of them could for the
life of him suggest.
The minutes, which seemed like hours, dragged wearily on, and the air in
the stuffy little court-house seemed to grow denser and more unendurably
stifling. One o’clock. Two o’clock. The hum of returning villagers became
more loud. The hour for the resumption of the session was only thirty
minutes away.
Suddenly there was the sound of light, quick, nervous footsteps along the
hallway, the door was pushed open, and in there bounced a little old
lady, whose thin face beamed and flushed with excitement under a bonnet,
fashionably but rather youthfully trimmed with bright flowers, dressed in
a gown quaintly cut, but giving evidence of the means of the wearer, and
bearing on one arm a small basket and in the other hand a chatelaine-bag.
“Why, it’s Mrs. Newcome!” exclaimed Mrs. Warren, jumping up excitedly,
and glad even of this interruption. “What can have brought you here?”
“Isn’t this a wicked shame!” cried the little old lady, paying no
attention to Mrs. Warren’s question. “It’s just the cruellest thing I
ever heard of, bringing these boys here. I’ll tell the judge that, too,
if they’ll let me. Where is that old scamp, Colonel Witham, and that old
mischief-maker, Squire Brackett? If I don’t give them a piece of my mind!
I told Jerry about it all the way over, and you ought to have heard him
growl. Here he is; just listen how angry he is.”
And Mrs. Newcome, unfastening the cover of the basket which she had been
carrying, disclosed to view the aforesaid Jerry, lying within on a
cushion. The cat, in corroboration of his mistress’s declaration,
certainly did growl and snarl and then yowl dolorously; but whether as an
endorsement of old Mrs. Newcome’s indignation, or whether giving vent to
his own at being whisked about in a basket on a boiling hot day, no one
but he could say positively.
“These boys didn’t set that fire,” snapped the old lady, decisively; “and
I just want to do what I can for them. I couldn’t leave Jerry behind. He
gets so lonesome without me. So I brought him along. And now, Mr. Warren,
I suppose you know I’m not the poorest person that comes down here to
spend summers, and I’ve got some property around these parts, too—some
land in this very town. And if there’s any what-do-you-call-it to pay—”
“Any bail?” suggested the squire.
“That’s it—bail. That’s the word. If there’s any of that to pay, I’ve got
the securities right here,” and Mrs. Newcome shook the chatelaine-bag
vigorously.
“You are very kind,” said Mr. Warren, amused in spite of himself. “But
I’m hoping we shall not have need of bail.”
But in the midst of it there came the ringing voice of the crier in the
court-room adjoining, and the little party all filed into court again,
old Mrs. Newcome bringing up the rear, with the basket on her arm, whence
there emerged now and then a stifled wail, in spite of her whispered
admonitions.
“We have closed our case,” said the prosecuting attorney. And the defence
was begun.
“George Warren!” called Squire Barker, and George, paling slightly at the
ordeal, but doing his best to keep up a stout heart, took the stand.
He told his story with a frankness that was convincing, keeping nothing
back; and at the close Squire Barker asked: “And did you, or did you see
anybody else set a fire that night?”
“Certainly not,” he answered. And there was no doubt that he had made a
good impression.
But there were certain ugly facts that were made to stick out more
embarrassingly on the prosecuting attorney’s cross-examination.
“You will admit,” he asked, “that you left on the second day following
the fire, because you did not care to be questioned about it?”
“Yes, because we knew that our being in the hotel that night would look
suspicious, if it were known,” answered George Warren.
“Then you were going to conceal that fact, if you could?”
“Yes—I think we were—for awhile, at least.”
“And so you ran away?”
“We didn’t start out with the idea of running away.”
“But you did run from the _Nancy Jane_ when you found she was following
and pursuing you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I really can’t tell you,” said George Warren. “I realize now it was a
foolish thing to do. But it was not because we were guilty.”
“But you were all in the basement of the hotel a few moments before the
fire started?”
“Yes, we were.”
“That is all,” said the prosecuting attorney, and George left the stand.
Henry Burns, called next, did the best he could for his comrades.
“If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s mine,” he said. “You see, it was my
suggestion that got us in there. I was the first to go inside, and the
others came only after I had urged them.”
But Squire Barker knew that this avowal, honest as it was, could not help
them in the eyes of the law. So, having asked a few perfunctory
questions, he turned the witness over to the prosecuting attorney. The
latter brought out about the same points that he had made in the
testimony of George Warren, and that was all.
It was quite clear that Squire Barker was only calling the boys from a
sense of duty to them, to let them make the best impression they might
upon the mind of the judge. It was the only suit he had to play.
Then followed Arthur and Joe, and at length Tom and Bob.
The squire was at the end of his resources now, as far as evidence could
go. It remained but for him to do his duty in the minds of his clients
and his townsmen, and he did it—to his own satisfaction, at least, in his
address to the court. He painted the heroism of the boys at the fire in
colours glowing as the flames. He enlarged upon the probability and the
presumption of innocence. And he paid his respects to the colonel and the
squire in a few stinging sentences that turned the eyes of the assembled
audience upon them in indignation.
And when he was all done and the court-room turned with expectancy toward
the prosecuting attorney, the latter simply said:
“Your Honour, the people will submit their case without argument.”
And so, with startling abruptness, the case had come to its crisis. There
was nothing left but for the law to act.
There succeeded a deathlike stillness in the court-room. His Honour sat
for some moments, with his eyes cast down upon his desk. He seemed loath
to speak. Finally he arose and, with some effort, said, gently:
“In all my experience as attorney and as judge I have never before been
placed in a position so distasteful to me nor so distressing. The case of
these young men is most unfortunate. Their stories impress me as honestly
told. Their characters are clearly such as are opposed to any such wanton
destruction as is here alleged. And yet the circumstances are such that I
should be blind to the duty of my office if I failed to hold them for
trial. I hope that when their case shall come to trial this fall that
they will have gathered evidence that shall show conclusively their
innocence. In the meantime, deeply as I regret it, it becomes my painful
duty to order that they be held.”
Again an utter stillness in the court-room, broken only by the sobbing of
a woman. The entire court-room waited silently for the next move, amazed
at the suddenness of the conclusion. Six boys set their teeth hard and
tried to look undismayed, but the face of each spoke only too plainly of
his distress.
Then all at once the patter of feet broke the silence in the court-room,
and a slight boyish figure, poorly dressed and unkempt, darted up the
aisle, into the august presence of the court, and sought refuge in the
seat next to that occupied by Mr. Warren.
A court officer, who had been stationed at the door, lumbered in after
the boyish figure.
“Officer,” cried Squire Ellis, irritably, “how came you to let this lad
into the court-room? What does this mean? Put him out.”
“If you please, Your Honour,” said the officer, very red in the face, “I
drove him away from the door once, but he dodged in past me again before
I could stop him.”
“Remove him from the room at once,” said the court, sharply.
The officer advanced.
But Tim Reardon—for it was he—had in the meantime seized upon Mr. Warren,
and, though labouring under an excitement so intense as almost to deprive
him wholly of the power of speech, communicated something to him of the
greatest importance. Mr. Warren, in turn, having repeated this
communication to Squire Barker, the latter hastily arose.
“Your Honour,” he began, “this young man brings evidence of the most
startling character, and which will, I am sure, reverse Your Honour’s
decision. He—”
But here a sound from the street outside was borne in upon the
court-room, which caused the squire to pause for a moment, while he and
every person in the room listened in amazement.
The noise outside increased, and now there came the sound of many voices,
men and women and boys and girls shouting out some piece of news, and
then a loud cheering. The tumult rapidly grew, until it seemed as if all
in a moment the entire village was marching upon the court-house.
Despite the loud rapping for order of the court officers and the sharp
order of the court for silence, many in the court-room rushed to the
windows and looked out. A strange sight met their eyes. A procession was
coming up the street, in the midst of which, his hands bound behind his
back, a man was walking, while, grasping him by either arm as they walked
beside him, were Jack Harvey and Joe Hinman.
Into the court-room the procession burst like an avalanche. The room had
seemed somewhat crowded before, but now at least fifty or sixty more men
wedged themselves in, with Harvey and his crew and the strange man still
in the centre of them. The rest of the crowd that followed, not being
able to force themselves into the court-room, seated themselves on the
stairs just outside, and formed a long line out into the street.
His Honour, powerless to stay this astonishing inrush of the townspeople,
waited till the crowd had resolved itself into something like order, and
then, rapping for silence, demanded to know the cause of this invasion of
and assault upon the dignity of the court.
There was a moment’s silence and delay, and then a broad-shouldered youth
pushed his way through the crowd and walked toward the witness-stand.
“Here!” cried His Honour. “Officer, stop that young man. Let the business
of this court proceed in its regular order. Mr. Barker, does the court
understand that you ask to have the case reopened on the ground of newly
discovered evidence?”
“Yes, Your Honour,” replied the squire, gravely.
“And this young man, do you wish to make him your witness?”
“I do, Your Honour,” answered Squire Barker. “Although I am not certain
as to just what he has to testify to, I wish to have him made our
witness.”
“State your name to the court,” said Squire Barker, as the youth ascended
the witness-stand.
“Jack Harvey.”
“And am I correctly informed that you have important testimony to give
before this court in this case?”
“I have the man that set the fire,” replied Harvey.
“And can you produce him?”
“He is here in this room,” answered Harvey.
And at this moment the crowd parted and allowed to pass a man who walked
doggedly forward, with eyes downcast, hands firmly bound behind his back,
while with him walked the remaining members of Harvey’s crew.
“Is this the man whom you say set the fire?” queried Squire Barker.
“Yes,” said Harvey.
“And how do you know he set the fire?”
“He’s confessed it, because he knew there was no way out of it for him.
Haven’t you?” demanded Harvey, turning to the man.
The other nodded his head sullenly.
The uproar that greeted this acknowledgment was deafening. It was several
moments before order could be restored in the court-room, and then the
news borne rapidly to those outside gave rise to a second tumult, which
again stopped the proceedings of the court.
Then, when order had been finally restored, Harvey narrated the
extraordinary events that had followed the meeting of the man in the
pasture, down to his capture and confession; a confession that included
the admission that he was none other than the man Chambers, and that he
had set fire to the hotel for revenge.
There never was anything like the scene that followed in all the history
of court procedure in the county from time out of mind. It did not take
the court long, however, to declare that the youthful prisoners, whom he
had felt it his solemn duty to hold for trial, were honourably cleared,
and were free to go at liberty. It did not take long, considering the
fact that the prisoner pleaded guilty, to hold him for trial. Nor did it
take long for good-hearted Judge Ellis to descend from the bench and
shake hands with the boys, each and every one of them, and congratulate
them upon their complete exoneration.
Once outside the court-room, however, what a storm and tumult of
congratulation awaited them. The first thing they knew there was a rush
for them, and up on the shoulders of a crowd of excited fishermen they
went, and were borne along, amid cheering. And Harvey, too, though he
struggled against it, was borne aloft, while the news of his brave
capture of the man Chambers was shouted out to all in the town.
In the midst of it all two figures were espied, slinking along toward the
boat-landing, anxious to escape notice. A din of yells and catcalls and
hisses told them they were discovered, and the colonel and the squire,
sorry pictures of dismay and humiliation, quickened their steps and made
their escape, thankful enough to escape unharmed from the indignant
villagers.
“Harvey,” said George Warren, as he stood grasping the other’s hand about
two hours later, as the boys formed a little group on the deck of the
steamer that was heading for Southport, “you have more than evened the
thing up. Tom and Bob saved you from drowning; but you have saved us all
from disgrace, and I’m not sure but what I’d rather drown than go through
a disgraceful ordeal like this again.”
“No,” said Harvey, clasping the hand of the other warmly. “I’m still the
one that’s in debt. They saved me from more than drowning. They saved me
from disgrace, too.”
“Let’s call it even, anyway,” said Henry Burns, “and shake hands all
around.”
Some weeks later, as Henry Burns and George Warren sat on the veranda of
the Warren cottage, looking out across the cove, a graceful yacht turned
the headland and came up into the harbour.
“She looks familiar,” said Henry Burns. “Where have we seen her before?
Why, it’s the _Eagle_, or the _Sprite_, or whatever her real name may be.
I wonder what she’s doing here. She was seized by the county and her
owners advertised for. I wonder if they can have been discovered.”
“Let’s go down and take a look at her,” said George Warren. “She is the
prettiest thing that ever came into this harbour.”
As they walked down to the shore a boat put off from the yacht and a man
pulled in to land.
“Can you tell me where I can find either Henry Burns or Jack Harvey?” he
inquired, addressing the two boys.
“I don’t know about Harvey,” answered Henry Bums, “but I can inform you
about the other person. What do you want of him?”
“Here’s a note for you, if you mean that you’re Henry Burns,” said the
man.
“That’s funny,” said Henry Burns. “It’s the first note I’ve got since
I’ve been here. I wonder who can have written it.”
Henry Burns deliberately tore open the envelope and unfolded a letter. He
glanced hastily at the contents, stopped short, and gave a cry of
surprise.
“George,” he said, solemnly, “will you hit me once, good and hard, so I
can tell whether I am dreaming or not?”
“I hardly think there’s any need of that,” answered the other, laughing.
“You seem to be about as wide-awake as usual.”
“Well,” said Henry Burns, “if you won’t hit me, just read that letter to
me aloud, anyway. Perhaps I’ll believe it if I hear you read it.”
“It seems to be addressed to you and Jack Harvey both,” said George
Warren. “Perhaps I need his permission, too, to read it.”
“No you don’t. Go ahead,” demanded Henry Burns.
The letter read as follows:
“Mayville.
“Henry Burns and Jack Harvey,
“_My dear Young Men:_—You have each of you proved yourselves heroes in
the events of the last few weeks. To you, Henry Burns, I am indebted
for the rescue of my devoted Jerry, my pet and companion of many years.
To you and your companions, I am, indeed, indebted for my own life. To
you, Jack Harvey, I am indebted for the saving from disgrace of these
young friends of mine. As you may know, the yacht captured from the man
Chambers was condemned by the county officials, advertised, and finally
put up at auction and sold, her former owner, if there ever was another
besides Chambers, not having claimed her. She was, I am informed, a
very expensive boat; but as there were few bidders among the fishermen,
I was enabled to bid off the boat at a figure easily within my means.
This letter is to inform you that I have presented the yacht to you, to
be owned equally by you two. The papers will be made out later and sent
to your parents or guardians. Hoping that you will enjoy many happy
days aboard her, I remain,
“Sincerely yours,
“Anna Newcome.
“P. S. Don’t upset her and get drowned.”
“Henry, old fellow,” cried George Warren. “Let me congratulate you. You
are the two luckiest—”
But Henry Burns was running as fast as his legs could carry him in the
direction of Harvey’s camp.
THE END.
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS
(Trade Mark)
_By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON_
Each, 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, per vol. $1.50
The Little Colonel Stories.
(Trade Mark)
Illustrated.
Being three “Little Colonel” stories in the Cosy Corner Series, “The
Little Colonel,” “Two Little Knights of Kentucky,” and “The Giant
Scissors,” put into a single volume.
The Little Colonel’s House Party.
(Trade Mark)
Illustrated by Louis Meynell.
The Little Colonel’s Holidays.
(Trade Mark)
Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman.
The Little Colonel’s Hero.
(Trade Mark)
Illustrated by E. B. Barry.
The Little Colonel at Boarding School.
(Trade Mark)
Illustrated by E. B. Barry.
The Little Colonel in Arizona.
(Trade Mark)
Illustrated by E. B. Barry.
The Little Colonel’s Christmas Vacation.
(Trade Mark)
Illustrated by E. B. Barry.
Since the time of “Little Women,” no juvenile heroine has been better
beloved of her child readers than Mrs. Johnston’s “Little Colonel.”
Joel: a Boy of Galilee.
By Annie Fellows Johnston. Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman.
New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little Colonel Books, 1 vol.,
large 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the author’s best-known
books, and which has been translated into many languages, the last being
Italian.
Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads. A sketch of Country Life and
Country Humor. By Annie Fellows Johnston. With a frontispiece
by Ernest Fosbery.
Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top $1.00
“‘Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads’ is the most delightful, most
sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long while.
The lovable, cheerful, touching incidents, the descriptions of persons
and things are wonderfully true to nature.”—_Boston Times._
In the Desert of Waiting: The Legend of Camelback Mountain.
The Three Weavers: A Fairy Tale for Fathers and Mothers as Well as for
Their Daughters. By Annie Fellows Johnston.
Each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative $0.60
There has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of
these two stories, which were originally included in two of the “Little
Colonel” books, and the present editions, which are very charmingly
gotten up, will be delightful and valued gift-books for both old and
young.
“‘The Three Weavers’ is the daintiest fairy-story I ever read,” wrote one
critic, and the _Louisville Post_ calls “In the Desert of Waiting” a
“gem, an exquisite bit of work. Mrs. Johnston is at her best in this web
of delicate fancy, woven about the deep centre truth.” Those who have
read the stories as they originally appeared will be glad to find them
published individually.
Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads. A sketch of Country Life and
Country Humor. By Annie Fellows Johnston. With a frontispiece
by Ernest Fosbery.
Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top $1.00
“‘Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads’ is the most delightful, most
sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long while.
The lovable, cheerful, touching incidents, the descriptions of persons
and things, are wonderfully true to nature.”—_Boston Times._
The Rival Campers; or, The Adventures of Henry Burns. By Ruel P. Smith.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by A. B. Shute $1.50
Here is a book which will grip and enthuse every boy reader. It is the
story of a party of typical American lads, courageous, alert, and
athletic, who spend a summer camping on an island off the Maine coast.
“The best boys’ book since ‘Tom Sawyer.’”—_San Francisco Examiner._
“Henry Burns, the hero, is the ‘Tom Brown’ of America.”—_N. Y. Sun._
The Rival Campers Afloat; or, The Prize Yacht Viking. By Ruel P. Smith,
author of “The Rival Campers.”
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
This book is a continuation of the adventures of “The Rival Campers” on
their prize yacht _Viking_. Every reader will be enthusiastic over the
adventures of Henry Burns and his friends on their sailing trip. They
have a splendid time, fishing, racing, and sailing, until an accidental
collision results in a series of exciting adventures, culminating in a
mysterious chase, the loss of their prize yacht, and its recapture by
means of their old yacht, _Surprise_, which they raise from its watery
grave.
The Young Section-hand; or, The Adventures of Allan West. By Burton E.
Stevenson, author of “The Marathon Mystery,” etc.
12mo, cloth, illustrated by L. J. Bridgman $1.50
Mr. Stevenson’s hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance as
a section-hand on a big Western railroad, and whose experiences are as
real as they are thrilling.
“It appeals to every boy of enterprising spirit, and at the same time
teaches him some valuable lessons in honor, pluck, and
perseverance.”—_Cleveland Plain Dealer._
The Young Train Despatcher. By Burton E. Stevenson, author of “The
Young Section-hand,” etc.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
A new volume in the “Railroad Series,” in which the young section-hand is
promoted to a train despatcher. Another branch of railroading is
presented, in which the young hero has many chances to prove his
manliness and courage in the exciting adventures which befall him in the
discharge of his duty.
Jack Lorimer. By Winn Standish.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative. Illustrated by A. B. Shute $1.50
Jack Lorimer, whose adventures have for some time been one of the leading
features of the Boston Sunday _Herald_, is the popular favorite of
fiction with the boys and girls of New England, and, now that Mr.
Standish has made him the hero of his book, he will soon be a favorite
throughout the country.
Jack is a fine example of the all-around American high-school boy. He has
the sturdy qualities boys admire, and his fondness for clean, honest
sport of all kinds will strike a chord of sympathy among athletic youths.
The Roses of Saint Elizabeth. By Jane Scott Woodruff, author of “The
Little Christmas Shoe.”
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in color by
Adelaide Everhart. $1.00
This is a charming little story of a child whose father was caretaker of
the great castle of the Wartburg, where Saint Elizabeth once had her
home, with a fairy-tale interwoven, in which the roses and the ivy in the
castle yard tell to the child and her playmate quaint old legends of the
saint and the castle.
Gabriel and the Hour Book. By Evaleen Stein.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated
in colors by Adelaide Everhart $1.00
Gabriel was a loving, patient, little French lad, who assisted the monks
in the long ago days, when all the books were written and illuminated by
hand, in the monasteries. It is a dear little story, and will appeal to
every child who is fortunate enough to read it.
The Enchanted Automobile. Translated from the French by Mary J.
Safford.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by
Edna M. Sawyer $1.00
The enchanted automobile was sent by the fairy godmother of a lazy,
discontented little prince and princess to take them to fairyland, where
they might visit their old story-book favorites.
Here they find that Sleeping Beauty has become a famously busy queen;
Princess Charming keeps a jewelry shop; where she sells the jewels that
drop from her lips; Hop-o’-My-Thumb is a farmer, too busy even to see the
children, and Little Red Riding Hood has trained the wolf into a trick
animal, who performs in the city squares.
They learn the lesson that happy people are the busy people, and they
return home cured of their discontent and laziness.
Beautiful Joe’s Paradise; or, The Island of Brotherly Love. A sequel to
“Beautiful Joe.” By Marshall Saunders, author of “Beautiful
Joe,” “For His Country,” etc. With fifteen full-page plates and
many decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston Bull.
One vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
“Will be immensely enjoyed by the boys and girls who read it.”—_Pittsburg
Gazette._
“Miss Saunders has put life, humor, action, and tenderness into her
story. The book deserves to be a favorite.”—_Chicago Record-Herald._
“This book revives the spirit of ‘Beautiful Joe’ capitally. It is fairly
riotous with fun, and as a whole is about as unusual as anything in the
animal book line that has seen the light. It is a book for juveniles—old
and young.”—_Philadelphia Item._
’Tilda Jane. By Marshall Saunders, author of “Beautiful Joe,” etc.
One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth, decorative cover, $1.50
“No more amusing and attractive child’s story has appeared for a long
time than this quaint and curious recital of the adventures of that
pitiful and charming little runaway.
“It is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books that win and
charm the reader, and I did not put it down until I had finished
it—honest! And I am sure that every one, young or old, who reads will be
proud and happy to make the acquaintance of the delicious waif.
“I cannot think of any better book for children than this. I commend it
unreservedly.”—_Cyrus Townsend Brady._
The Story of the Graveleys. By Marshall Saunders, author of “Beautiful
Joe’s Paradise,” “’Tilda Jane,” etc.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by E. B. Barry $1.50
Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a
delightful New England family, of whose devotion and sturdiness it will
do the reader good to hear. From the kindly, serene-souled grandmother to
the buoyant madcap, Berty, these Graveleys are folk of fibre and
blood—genuine human beings.
PHYLLIS’ FIELD FRIENDS SERIES
_By LENORE E. MULETS_
Six vols., cloth decorative, illustrated by Sophie Schneider.
Sold separately, or as a set.
Per volume $1.00
Per set 6.00
Insect Stories.
Stories of Little Animals.
Flower Stories.
Bird Stories.
Tree Stories.
Stories of Little Fishes.
In this series of six little Nature books, it is the author’s intention
so to present to the child reader the facts about each particular
flower, insect, bird, or animal, in story form, as to make delightful
reading. Classical legends, myths, poems, and songs are so introduced
as to correlate fully with these lessons, to which the excellent
illustrations are no little help.
THE WOODRANGER TALES
_By G. WALDO BROWNE_
The Woodranger.
The Young Gunbearer.
The Hero of the Hills.
With Rogers’ Rangers.
Each 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, decorative cover, illustrated,
per volume $1.25
Four vols., boxed, per set 5.00
“The Woodranger Tales,” like the “Pathfinder Tales” of J. Fenimore
Cooper, combine historical information relating to early pioneer days
in America with interesting adventures in the backwoods. Although the
same characters are continued throughout the series, each book is
complete in itself, and, while based strictly on historical facts, is
an interesting and exciting tale of adventure.
Born to the Blue. By Florence Kimball Russel.
12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.25
The atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on every page of this
delightful tale. The boy is the son of a captain of U. S. cavalry
stationed at a frontier post in the days when our regulars earned the
gratitude of a nation.
The author is herself “of the army,” and knows every detail of the life.
Her descriptions are accurate, which adds to the value and interest of
the book.
Pussy-Cat Town. By Marion Ames Taggart.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors $1.00
“Pussy-Cat Town” is a most unusual, delightful cat story. Ban-Ban, a pure
Maltese who belonged to Rob, Kiku-san, Lois’s beautiful snow-white pet,
and their neighbors Bedelia the tortoise-shell, Madame Laura the widow,
Wutz Butz the warrior, and wise old Tommy Traddles, were really and truly
cats, and Miss Taggart has here explained the reason for their mysterious
disappearance all one long summer.
The Sandman: His Farm Stories. By William J. Hopkins. With fifty
illustrations by Ada Clendenin Williamson.
Large 12mo, decorative cover $1.50
“An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very small
children. It should be one of the most popular of the year’s books for
reading to small children.”—_Buffalo Express._
“Mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who take the little ones to
bed and rack their brains for stories will find this book a
treasure.”—_Cleveland Leader._
The Sandman: More Farm Stories. By William J. Hopkins.
Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50
Mr. Hopkins’s first essay at bedtime stories has met with such approval
that this second book of “Sandman” tales has been issued for scores of
eager children. Life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his
inimitable manner, and many a little one will hail the bedtime season as
one of delight.
THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES
The most delightful and interesting accounts possible of
child-life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings,
and adventures.
Each 1 vol., 12mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six or
more full-page illustrations in color.
Price per volume $0.60
_By MARY HAZELTON WADE (unless otherwise indicated)_
Our Little African Cousin
Our Little Armenian Cousin
Our Little Brown Cousin
Our Little Canadian Cousin By Elizabeth R. Macdonald
Our Little Chinese Cousin By Isaac Taylor Headland
Our Little Cuban Cousin
Our Little Dutch Cousin By Blanche McManus
Our Little English Cousin By Blanche McManus
Our Little Eskimo Cousin
Our Little French Cousin By Blanche McManus
Our Little German Cousin
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
Our Little Indian Cousin
Our Little Irish Cousin
Our Little Italian Cousin
Our Little Japanese Cousin
Our Little Jewish Cousin
Our Little Korean Cousin By H. Lee M. Pike
Our Little Mexican Cousin By Edward C. Butler
Our Little Norwegian Cousin
Our Little Panama Cousin By H. Lee M. Pike
Our Little Philippine Cousin
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin
Our Little Russian Cousin
Our Little Scotch Cousin By Blanche McManus
Our Little Siamese Cousin
Our Little Spanish Cousin By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Swedish Cousin By Claire M. Coburn
Our Little Swiss Cousin
Our Little Turkish Cousin
THE GOLDENROD LIBRARY
The Goldenrod Library contains only the highest and purest
literature,—stories which appeal alike both to children and to their
parents and guardians.
Each volume is well illustrated from drawings by competent artists,
which, together with their handsomely decorated uniform binding, showing
the goldenrod, usually considered the emblem of America, is a feature of
their manufacture.
Each one volume, small 12mo, illustrated, decorated cover,
paper wrapper $0.35
LIST OF TITLES
Aunt Nabby’s Children. By Frances Hodges White.
Child’s Dream of a Star, The. By Charles Dickens.
Flight of Rosy Dawn, The. By Pauline Bradford Mackie.
Findelkind. By Ouida.
Fairy of the Rhone, The. By A. Comyns Carr.
Gatty and I. By Frances E. Crompton.
Great Emergency, A. By Juliana Horatia Ewing.
Helena’s Wonderworld. By Frances Hodges White.
Jackanapes. By Juliana Horatia Ewing.
Jerry’s Reward. By Evelyn Snead Barnett.
La Belle Nivernaise. By Alphonse Daudet.
Little King Davie. By Nellie Hellis.
Little Peterkin Vandike. By Charles Stuart Pratt.
Little Professor, The. By Ida Horton Cash.
Peggy’s Trial. By Mary Knight Potter.
Prince Yellowtop. By Kate Whiting Patch.
Provence Rose, A. By Ouida.
Rab and His Friends. By Dr. John Brown.
Seventh Daughter, A. By Grace Wickham Curran.
Sleeping Beauty, The. By Martha Baker Dunn.
Small, Small Child, A. By E. Livingston Prescott.
Story of a Short Life, The. By Juliana Horatia Ewing.
Susanne. By Frances J. Delano.
Water People, The. By Charles Lee Sleight.
Young Archer, The. By Charles E. Brimblecom.
COSY CORNER SERIES
It is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain
only the very highest and purest literature,—stories that shall not
only appeal to the children themselves, but be appreciated by all those
who feel with them in their joys and sorrows.
The numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known artists, and
each volume has a separate attractive cover design.
Each 1 vol., 16mo, cloth $0.50
_By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON_
The Little Colonel. (Trade Mark)
The scene of this story is laid in Kentucky. Its heroine is a small girl,
who is known as the Little Colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance
to an old-school Southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are
famous in the region.
The Giant Scissors.
This is the story of Joyce and of her adventures in France. Joyce is a
great friend of the Little Colonel, and in later volumes shares with her
the delightful experiences of the “House Party” and the “Holidays.”
Two Little Knights of Kentucky. Who Were the Little Colonel’s
Neighbors.
In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an old friend, but
with added grace and charm. She is not, however, the central figure of
the story, that place being taken by the “two little knights.”
Mildred’s Inheritance.
A delightful little story of a lonely English girl who comes to America
and is befriended by a sympathetic American family who are attracted by
her beautiful speaking voice. By means of this one gift she is enabled to
help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and thus
finally her life becomes a busy, happy one.
Cicely and Other Stories for Girls.
The readers of Mrs. Johnston’s charming juveniles will be glad to learn
of the issue of this volume for young people.
Aunt ’Liza’s Hero and Other Stories.
A collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all boys
and most girls.
Big Brother.
A story of two boys. The devotion and care of Steven, himself a small
boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale.
Ole Mammy’s Torment.
“Ole Mammy’s Torment” has been fitly called “a classic of Southern life.”
It relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells how he
was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right.
The Story of Dago.
In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, a pet monkey,
owned jointly by two brothers. Dago tells his own story, and the account
of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing.
The Quilt That Jack Built.
A pleasant little story of a boy’s labor of love, and how it changed the
course of his life many years after it was accomplished.
Flip’s Islands of Providence.
A story of a boy’s life battle, his early defeat, and his final triumph,
well worth the reading.
_By EDITH ROBINSON_
A Little Puritan’s First Christmas.
A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christmas was invented
by Betty Sewall, a typical child of the Puritans, aided by her brother
Sam.
A Little Daughter of Liberty.
The author’s motive for this story is well indicated by a quotation from
her introduction, as follows:
“One ride is memorable in the early history of the American Revolution,
the well-known ride of Paul Revere. Equally deserving of commendation is
another ride,—the ride of Anthony Severn,—which was no less historic in
its action or memorable in its consequences.”
A Loyal Little Maid.
A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary days, in which the
child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders important services to George
Washington.
A Little Puritan Rebel.
This is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the
gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massachusetts.
A Little Puritan Pioneer.
The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement at Charlestown.
The little girl heroine adds another to the list of favorites so well
known to the young people.
A Little Puritan Bound Girl.
A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great interest to youthful
readers.
A Little Puritan Cavalier.
The story of a “Little Puritan Cavalier” who tried with all his boyish
enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of the dead Crusaders.
_By OUIDA (Louise de la Ramée)_
A Dog of Flanders: A Christmas Story.
Too well and favorably known to require description.
The Nurnberg Stove.
This beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price.
_By FRANCES MARGARET FOX_
The Little Giant’s Neighbours.
A charming nature story of a “little giant” whose neighbours were the
creatures of the field and garden.
Farmer Brown and the Birds.
A little story which teaches children that the birds are man’s best
friends.
Betty of Old Mackinaw.
A charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the little
readers who like stories of “real people.”
Brother Billy.
The story of Betty’s brother, and some further adventures of Betty
herself.
Mother Nature’s Little Ones.
Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or “childhood,” of
the little creatures out-of-doors.
How Christmas Came to the Mulvaneys.
A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children, with an
unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. The wonderful never-to-be
forgotten Christmas that came to them is the climax of a series of
exciting incidents.
_By MISS MULOCK_
The Little Lame Prince.
A delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures by means of
the magic gifts of his fairy godmother.
Adventures of a Brownie.
The story of a household elf who torments the cook and gardener, but is a
constant joy and delight to the children who love and trust him.
His Little Mother.
Miss Mulock’s short stories for children are a constant source of delight
to them, and “His Little Mother,” in this new and attractive dress, will
be welcomed by hosts of youthful readers.
Little Sunshine’s Holiday.
An attractive story of a summer outing. “Little Sunshine” is another of
those beautiful child-characters for which Miss Mulock is so justly
famous.
_By MARSHALL SAUNDERS_
For His Country.
A sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved his country; written
with that charm which has endeared Miss Saunders to hosts of readers.
Nita, the Story of an Irish Setter.
In this touching little book, Miss Saunders shows how dear to her heart
are all of God’s dumb creatures.
Alpatok, the Story of an Eskimo Dog.
Alpatok, an Eskimo dog from the far north, was stolen from his master and
left to starve in a strange city, but was befriended and cared for, until
he was able to return to his owner. Miss Saunders’s story is based on
truth, and the pictures in the book of “Alpatok” are based on a
photograph of the real Eskimo dog who had such a strange experience.
_By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE_
The Farrier’s Dog and His Fellow.
This story, written by the gifted young Southern woman, will appeal to
all that is best in the natures of the many admirers of her graceful and
piquant style.
The Fortunes of the Fellow.
Those who read and enjoyed the pathos and charm of “The Farrier’s Dog and
His Fellow” will welcome the further account of the adventures of Baydaw
and the Fellow at the home of the kindly smith.
The Best of Friends.
This continues the experiences of the Farrier’s dog and his Fellow,
written in Miss Dromgoole’s well-known charming style.
Down in Dixie.
A fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of Alabama children
who move to Florida and grow up in the South.
_By MARIAN W. WILDMAN_
Loyalty Island.
An account of the adventures of four children and their pet dog on an
island, and how they cleared their brother from the suspicion of
dishonesty.
Theodore and Theodora.
This is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mischievous twins, and
continues the adventures of the interesting group of children in “Loyalty
Island.”
_By CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS_
The Cruise of the Yacht Dido.
The story of two boys who turned their yacht into a fishing boat to earn
money to pay for a college course, and of their adventures while
exploring in search of hidden treasure.
The Lord of the Air
The Story of the Eagle
The King of the Mamozekel
The Story of the Moose
The Watchers of the Camp-fire
The Story of the Panther
The Haunter of the Pine Gloom
The Story of the Lynx
The Return to the Trails
The Story of the Bear
The Little People of the Sycamore
The Story of the Raccoon
_By OTHER AUTHORS_
The Great Scoop.
_By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL_
A capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of a bright,
enterprising, likable youngster employed thereon.
John Whopper.
The late Bishop Clark’s popular story of the boy who fell through the
earth and came out in China, with a new introduction by Bishop Potter.
The Dole Twins.
_By KATE UPSON CLARK_
The adventures of two little people who tried to earn money to buy
crutches for a lame aunt. An excellent description of child-life about
1812, which will greatly interest and amuse the children of to-day, whose
life is widely different.
Larry Hudson’s Ambition.
_By JAMES OTIS_, author of “Toby Tyler,” etc.
Larry Hudson is a typical American boy, whose hard work and enterprise
gain him his ambition,—an education and a start in the world.
The Little Christmas Shoe.
_By JANE P. SCOTT WOODRUFF_
A touching story of Yule-tide.
Wee Dorothy.
_By LAURA UPDEGRAFF_
A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion of the eldest, a boy,
for his sister being its theme and setting. With a bit of sadness at the
beginning, the story is otherwise bright and sunny, and altogether
wholesome in every way.
The King of the Golden River: A Legend of Stiria. By JOHN RUSKIN
Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally intended for
publication, this little fairy-tale soon became known and made a place
for itself.
A Child’s Garden of Verses.
_By R. L. STEVENSON_
Mr. Stevenson’s little volume is too well known to need description. It
will be heartily welcomed in this new and attractive edition.
Transcriber’s Notes
--Silently corrected a few typos (but left nonstandard spelling and
dialect as is).
--Rearranged front matter (and moved illustrations) to a more-logical
streaming order.