NEW TRAILS
THE train to Bauer left so early that Mary had to take the first
street-car passing the Post, in order to reach the station in time. Gay
had announced her intention of going down with her, but did not awaken
until Mary, who occupied an adjoining room, was nearly dressed and the
maid was bringing up a hastily-prepared breakfast, on a tray. But Mary
could not honestly share Gay's regrets at being late. She had dressed
noiselessly on purpose not to waken her. She wanted to go alone in order
to have those last moments with Phil all to herself, and she was so
elated when she finally got away from the house unaccompanied that she
could have sung aloud.
Her route took her through Alamo plaza again, and the streets which
still bore witness to the presence of the Carnival. All the buildings
were still gay with bunting, and flags flapped merrily in the morning
sunshine. She wondered which would be first to reach the station, and
all the way down, Phil's face was before her. She could see just the way
he would look, coming towards her through the crowd, tall and
distinguished and with such a jolly twinkle in his handsome eyes. And he
would call out, "Hullo, little Vicar; I beat you to it!" or some such
friendly greeting as that.
She did not know that she was smiling to herself, but it made no
difference. There was no one to see, for the men on the car were all
hidden behind their morning papers. When she reached the station only a
few people were in sight, and when she climbed into the coach at the end
of the long line of freight-cars, there were not more than half a dozen
passengers aboard. All of them looked sleepy, and a series of gentle
snores attracted her attention to an old countryman, curled up on a back
seat with his valise for a pillow.
On her way in she had passed through the waiting-room and given a hasty
look around to see if Phil were ahead of her. Glancing up at the clock
she found that she had ten minutes to spare. Three of these passed in
getting settled and in taking an inventory of her fellow-passengers.
Then she began to hang out of the window and anxiously watch the
waiting-room door. She was growing uneasy. Maybe the clerk _had_
forgotten to call him. Maybe he _was_ "slumbering still," as Gay had
prophesied. He might have missed the car he should have taken, or there
might be a tie-up somewhere along the line.
A colored man hurried into the coach with a chunk of ice for the water
cooler. The conductor came down the platform looking at his watch, and
signalled something to a brakeman. Mary put her head out of the window
again and looked anxiously up and down, whispering in a flutter of
nervousness, "Oh, _why_ doesn't he come? Why _doesn't_ he come? There's
only a minute or two left and there won't be time for a word."
She would not admit the possibility of his not coming at all, until she
heard the warning, "All aboard!" the ringing of the engine bell, and
felt the jerk and jar which proclaimed all too plainly that the car was
in motion. She was so disappointed that she could hardly keep the tears
back. Her last thought before falling asleep the night before and the
first one on awakening had been that she was going to see the "Best Man"
by himself a few moments, without any talkative Roberta to absorb his
attention, or any other people to run away with the conversation.
It was a very disconsolate little face that turned towards the open
window to hide its disappointment from possibly curious neighbors. She
found it hard to wink the tears back when she was so deeply, grievously
disappointed. Her back was turned resolutely towards the aisle and her
arms were crossed on the window-sill. In that position she could not see
the rear door of the car open and some one come in from the back
platform. He stood a moment, his hat in one hand and a suit-case in the
other, breathing fast as if he had been running. Then after a searching
glance through the car, he went directly down the aisle and stopped
beside Mary's seat. Her attitude, even to the droop of her hat-brim,
proclaimed her dejection so clearly that a smile twitched the corners of
his mouth. Then he said in a deep voice, so deep that it was fairly
sepulchral, "I beg pardon, Miss. May I occupy this end of the seat?"
Startled by the strange voice so near, she turned a very sober and
unsmiling face to see what manner of person had accosted her. Then she
exclaimed, in astonishment, "Why, Phil Tremont! How ever did you get on
without my seeing you? I looked and looked and thought you must have
gotten left!"
Then realizing that the train was well under way and they had been
carried some distance past the station, she cried in alarm, "But you
can't get off! They're carrying you away!" She was almost wringing her
hands in her excitement.
"Well, I don't mind it if you don't," said Phil, sitting down beside her
and laughing at her concern. "I'm going along with you. Something Miss
Roberta said last night on her way home started me to thinking, and--the
result was, I decided to spend another day and night in Bauer. It's
positively my last appearance, however. I'll leave for good in the
morning."
What Roberta could have said to make such a change in his plans was more
than Mary could imagine. She almost had to bite her tongue to keep from
asking, and Phil, knowing that he had aroused her wildest curiosity,
laughed again. But he wasted no more time in teasing her.
"No, really," he said, "I was joking. A telegram from my firm routed me
out about six o'clock this morning. They want me to go to St. Louis to
see some parties before returning to New York. I figured it out that I
could double things up there so as to give me one more day here. But it
took me so long to figure it, that, by the time I had made up my mind,
there was only a moment to stuff my things into my suit-case and call a
taxicab. When I got down to the station I saw I had about three minutes
in which to snatch a sandwich and a cup of coffee at the lunch counter;
but the coffee was so hot I came near missing my train. Had to run a
block and swing up on the rear platform. If it had been the regular
express I couldn't have caught it. Luckily it was a freight, so here I
am."
He did not add that an unaccountable impulse to go back to Bauer had
seized him the night before when he bade her good-night, or that the
impulse had been strengthened afterward by a casual remark of Roberta's
about Lieutenant Boglin. Roberta thought she saw the first symptoms of a
budding romance on Bogey's part.
Not being given to the practice of analyzing his feelings, Phil did not
stop to ask himself why it should make any difference to him what the
lieutenant thought of little Mary Ware, nor did he realize at the time
how much that remark influenced his decision to spend one more day with
her. Afterwards he used to say that it was Fate and not himself that was
responsible for that journey; that it was destined from the beginning he
should chase madly after that freight-train, catch it, and thereby give
himself four long uninterrupted hours in which to grow better acquainted
with her than he had ever been before.
At the end of that time he knew why he had been drawn back. It was that
her real self, the depth of whose charm he had not even half suspected,
should be revealed to him in the intimacy of this conversation. It
changed his whole attitude toward her to find how much she had changed
herself; how she had grown and developed. In some ways she was still the
amusing child whose unexpected sayings had first attracted him. She
would always be that, but she was so much more now; and, again, as on
the day he met her in the field of blue-bonnets, he found himself
watching her, trying to decide just wherein her charm lay, and how it
made her different from any other girl he had ever known. Sometimes he
would almost lose what she was saying, puzzling over the problem.
At the stone quarry, while they waited a long time for the engine to
switch off some empty cars, and pick up some loaded ones, they left the
coach and walked up and down beside the track. They were talking about
Gay and Alex, and he laughed at her outspoken honesty in expressing her
opinion about their delayed wedding.
"I think it's so sensible for them to wait till he's got something saved
up for a rainy day, when he's nothing now but his practice. It's like
providing a sort of financial umbrella. Really, it is just like
starting out without a sign of an umbrella when you know it's going to
rain, and trusting to luck to keep you dry, for people to marry with
nothing to depend on but an uncertain salary."
Phil laughed, as he answered, "What a little pessimist you are, Mary. It
_doesn't_ always rain, and people _have_ married without such a
provision who lived happily ever after."
"But it does oftener than it doesn't," she insisted. "Papa and mamma
lived happily, and he had only his practice as a young lawyer. But look
what we've been through since he died. Things wouldn't have come to such
a pass when his health broke down if there had been something laid away
for such emergencies. Joyce and I have often talked about it when we've
had to pinch and work and economize down to the last cent."
"So you'll never marry a man who has only the shelter of a salary to
offer you?" said Phil, teasingly.
"I didn't say that," answered Mary, her face puckered up into a puzzled
expression. "I don't want to, and I don't _think_ I would, but,
honestly, I don't know what I would do. I'm afraid that if I loved a man
as much as you ought to to be his wife that I'd be every bit as foolish
as anybody else, and that I'd marry him even if I had to take in back
stairs to scrub for a living. But I do hope I'll have more sense, or
else he won't be that kind of a man. It isn't that I mind work," she
added, "but I'm so tired of doing without and making over, and tugging
and pulling to make both ends meet. Do you know what they call me at
home? The Watch-dog of the Treasury, and you can guess what I've had to
be like to earn such a name. I earned it, too, all right. I fought over
every penny, and I'd hate to keep on in the same old rut all the rest of
my days. It would be so nice to look forward to a luxurious old age."
She laughed when she had said it, but such a tired little sigh came
first, and that wistful look again in her honest, straightforward eyes
as she glanced up at him, that he was seized with a sudden desire such
as no one else had ever inspired before, to pick her up and carry her
away from all her troubles; to surround her with all the girlish
pleasures and pretty things she loved, and to humor every whim all the
rest of her life. But all he said was:
"And if you were a man I suppose you would feel the same way about it."
"Oh, more so!" she cried. "The more I thought of a girl the surer I'd
want to be that she need never face that rainy day unprotected."
She stooped to pick a tiny yellow star from a clump of broom growing
alongside the track, and they walked on in silence a moment. Then he
said, with an amused side-glance at her:
"You can't imagine how funny it seems to hear such common-sense,
practical 'side talks on matrimony' from an eighteen-year-old girl like
you. I feel as if I'd had a scolding from my grandmother, and that I'll
have to own up that I did it, but I'm sorry and I'll never do it again."
"Did what?" queried Mary in surprise.
"Spent everything as fast as I made it. Had money to burn and burnt it.
I don't ask any better salary than I've been receiving for several
years. Of course, when I go in by myself, that'll be another matter. But
I'll have to own up; out of it all, I've saved practically nothing. I
haven't spent it in riotous living, and it doesn't seem that I've been
particularly extravagant, but it's gone. It just slipped through my
fingers."
"Oh, well, _you_," began Mary. "That's different."
"In what way is it different?" he persisted, when she did not go on.
"Well, if a man doesn't mind getting wet himself it's nobody's business
if he takes chances. It's the man who expects to--to have some one else
to protect--who ought to be ready for the possible storms."
"But what makes you think that I'll always go it alone?" insisted Phil.
"That I'll never have any one to--protect? That's what you seem to
insinuate."
He was looking directly into her eyes, laughingly, teasingly, and a wave
of color swept over her face. Roberta would have evaded the question,
and turned it off with a laugh. Mary was too simple and direct. It was
the moment she had long felt must confront her some time. Her day of
reckoning had come for playing eavesdropper. No matter how hard she
fought against doing so, she knew she was going to confess that she had
been one, albeit unintentionally.
As he repeated his question with smiling insistence, the words stuck in
her throat, but the thought uppermost in her mind called out to him by
some strange, telepathic power, and he understood as if she had spoken.
"You think," he said slowly, looking into her eyes as if the written
words were actually before him there and he was reading them aloud, "you
think that it is on Lloyd's account. How did you know about--_that_?"
It startled her so that he should read her thought in such a way that
she could only stammer in reply:
"I--I--heard you singing to her once at The Locusts, that song you sang
last night, 'Till the stars are old,' and I thought if you cared for her
as it sounded both times, that there _couldn't_ be anybody else,
_ever_!"
Phil turned partly away from her, and stared off towards the hills a
moment, his eyes narrowed into a thoughtful, musing expression. Finally
he said, "I thought so, too, Mary, once. I thought it for a number of
years. That time will always be one of the sweetest and most sacred of
my memories. One's earliest love always is, they say, like the first
white violet in the spring."
There was a long pause, then he finished the sentence by turning around
to her to say, significantly, "But there's always a summer after every
spring, you know. Come on, we'd better be getting aboard again. It looks
as if they're about ready to start."
He helped her up the steps and followed her down the aisle. While
adjusting the window-shade before she took her seat, he began to talk of
other things, and the subject was dropped between them. But it was not
dropped in Mary's mind. She had been called on to adjust herself to a
new viewpoint of him so quickly that it left her mentally gasping. With
his own hand he had ruthlessly swept away one of her dearest illusions.
She had always believed that no matter who else might forget, _he_ would
always stand as a model of manly constancy. What surprised her now was
not his change of view. It was her own. By that one sentence he had made
it perfectly clear to her that it was not reasonable to expect him to go
on mourning always for the "first white violet." It was only natural
that summer should follow the spring.
But the puzzle now was, who was good enough and sweet and high and fine
enough to follow Lloyd? Mary was positive that there was nobody. He
might hunt the whole world over, but she was sure he would be doomed to
disappointment in the end. Her motherly concern over that was almost as
great as her sympathy had been when she thought of him as doomed to
carry a secret sorrow with him to the grave.
After that the conversation was not so personal. It was nearly noon when
they reached Bauer, and in that time they had exchanged views on enough
subjects to have filled an encyclopædia. Twice after that they talked
together alone. The first time was when they went out in the boat just
before sunset. Mary wanted him to see Fernbank in all its glory of fresh
April greenness, with the little waterfalls splashing their fine mist
over the walls of delicate maiden-hair.
She insisted on poling the boat, although he protested that it made him
uncomfortable to sit still and see her doing the work. He refused to go
at all, until she compromised by saying he might pole on the way back.
"It isn't work," she insisted. "It's one of the greatest pleasures I
have, and about the only one I've had in this benighted place."
"You always did love to 'paddle your own canoe' and strike out and do
things for yourself," he remarked, as they shot swiftly up the stream.
"By the way, what are you going to do next? Will you be starting back to
Warwick Hall again in September, now that Jack is sure of taking his old
position in the mines then?"
"No," was her decided answer. "We've scrapped about that a lot lately.
He insists that I must. But it's this way. He's lost a whole year out of
his life, and although he's never said so, I know the time is coming
when he'll want to settle down and have a home of his own. And _he's_
the kind who'd never ask a girl to marry him until he'd provided for her
future in case anything should happen to him. Joyce's plans have been
put back a year, too. She has her heart set on going to Paris with Miss
Henrietta to study, just as soon as she can afford it. Of course, Jack
will pay back his part of what she's spent on us this winter, but it
will take a good while for him to do it. I've made up my mind I'm not
going to stand in their way. I'll not be a drag on either one of them.
There's lots of things that I can do. The summer is already provided
for. When Mrs. Mallory found that we are going to stay on here till
September, till Jack is strong enough to go back to work, she made up
her mind to stay, too, no matter how hot it gets, because the children
are so happy here. They can't bear the idea of stopping their lessons.
They're beginning to learn to read now, and are as wild over that as if
it were a new game. Mrs. Rochester says it does get frightfully hot here
in the summers, but that we can stand it if we have the lessons in the
morning instead of afternoon."
"And then," asked Phil, "after that?"
"After that I don't know, but there'll be something. It's all uncertain,
but it's interesting just to wonder what will come next. I'm like the
wolf in the last of the Mowgli stories."
She turned to glance over her shoulder as she quoted, laughingly, "'_The
stars are thin,' said Gray Brother, sniffing at the dawn wind. 'Where
shall we lair to-day? For, from now, we follow new trails._' I don't
know where the new trails will lead, but from all that's happened in the
past, I've faith to believe that there'll be 'good hunting' in them."
"There will always be that for you," said Phil, warmly. "You'll never
strike one where you'll not find friends and interests and--"
He started to say more, but checked himself, and after an instant's
pause, stood up, almost upsetting the boat, and laughingly took the oar
away from her, insisting that he couldn't sit still another minute. He
had to work off some of his surplus energy.
What he had come near saying when he checked himself was, "And you'll
never strike a trail where you won't be the bravest, jolliest, dearest
little comrade a man could have; one that he would never tire of, one
who could inspire him to do and be his best."
The impulse to say all this came upon him so suddenly that it startled
him. Then a sober second thought told him that after all she was
scarcely more than a child, that she had always looked upon him as an
elderly brother, and that it would be better not to destroy that old
intimate relationship until he was sure of being able to establish a new
one. A strange feeling of humility took possession of him. It suddenly
seemed that he had so little to offer one who could give so much. Even
her opinion which he had laughed at at the stone quarry, about providing
a financial umbrella, carried weight now, and made him hesitate, no
longer confidant of himself.
His strong, quick sweeps of the oar sent the boat upstream at twice the
speed it had been going before, and Mary, from her seat in the stern,
called out that it was as good as flying, and that she'd have to
acknowledge that she'd never known before how delightful it was to sit
still and let somebody else do the paddling. But that was because nobody
else had taken her along so fast.
At Fernbank they did not get out of the boat. Phil took the seat facing
her, while they drifted around the deep pool for a little while. It was
almost twilight there, for the high bank shut out the glow of the
sunset, and it was deliciously cool and green and still. Presently some
remark of Phil's made Mary exclaim:
"That reminds me, although I don't know why it should, of something
I've been intending to tell you, that Joyce wrote recently. You've heard
her talk of little Jules Ciseaux, the boy who played such an important
part in her winter in France. He lived in the house with the giant
scissors on the gables, and over the great gate, you know. Well, he's
over here in America now. He's always wanted to come ever since Joyce
told him so much about it. His mother was an American and I think he was
born in this country. At any rate, he's here now, sightseeing and trying
to hunt up his mother's family.
"He's come into quite a large fortune lately, ever so many hundred
thousand francs. As he is of age, he can do as he pleases. Joyce says he
wants to come out to Lone Rock to see us, because she used to entertain
him by the hour with tales of us, and he used to envy us our good times
together in the little brown house at Plainsville. He never knew any
home life like ours. I'm wild to see him. Joyce says he is charming!
Such lovely manners, and such a sensitive, refined face, like one's
ideal of a young poet. He's really something of an artist. Joyce says
he's done some really creditable work, and all her friends have taken
him up and are making it nice for him while he is in New York."
"That _is_ interesting," said Phil. "I'll look him up as soon as I get
back. Wouldn't it be romantic if the friendship that started between
them as children should grow into something more? All those inherited
francs would provide the fine, large umbrella which you seem to think is
necessary."
"Oh, it never can be anything but friendship in this case," exclaimed
Mary. "Jules is two years younger than Joyce."
"By the same token he is three years older than you. Maybe it's Joyce's
little sister he will be taking an interest in."
"Humph! You're as bad as Norman!" replied Mary, calmly. "That's what
_he_ said. He thought he had something new to tease me about, but he
soon found out that it wouldn't work."
Despite her indifference, Phil thought of the possibility again many
times that night before he fell asleep. Knowing the limited space of the
cottage, he had taken a room at the Williams House, despite Mrs. Ware's
protests, saying he would be over early in the morning for breakfast.
But it seemed for awhile that breakfast-time would arrive before he
could fall asleep.
Things assume formidable proportions in the darkness and dead quiet of
the night that they never have by day. Away after midnight he was still
thinking of what Mary had said about the young Frenchman who had lately
come into his fortune, and of what Roberta had said about Lieutenant
Boglin. The face of the latter rose up before him. Not a particularly
good-looking face, he thought, but it was a strong, likable one, and he
had a sense of humor which made him good company, and a blarney-stone
turn of the tongue that would take with any girl. As for Jules Ciseaux,
who had envied the Wares their home life, Phil knew all about the
childhood of the lonely little lad left to the mercies of a brutal
caretaker. Jules would only need to see Mary once, dear little
home-maker that she was, to want to carry her away with him to his
chateau beside the Loire.
Before Phil finally fell asleep he had decided just what he would say to
Mary next morning, and that he would go early enough to make an
opportunity to say it. It _was_ early when he went striding down the
road, across the foot-bridge, and took the short cut through a meadow to
the back of the Ware cottage; but the preparations for breakfast were
well under way. When he reached the back porch, screened by
morning-glory vines, he saw the table set out there, with fresh
strawberries at each place, wreathed in their own green leaves.
Judging from the odors wafted through the door, chickens were broiling
within to exactly the right degree of delectable crispness, and coffee
which would be of amber clearness, was in the making. But the noises
within the kitchen were not to be interpreted as easily as the odors.
There was a banging and scuffling over the floor, muffled shrieks and
broken sentences in high voices, choking with laughter. Not till he
reached the open window and looked in could he imagine the cause of the
uproar. Norman and Mary were wrestling and romping all over the kitchen,
having a tug-of-war over something he was trying to take away from her.
Unconscious of a spectator, they dragged each other around, bumping
against walls amid a clatter of falling tinware, stumbling over chairs
and coming to a deadlock in each others' arms in a corner, so full of
laughter they could scarcely hold their grip.
"Dare me again! will you?" gasped Norman, thinking he had her pinned to
the wall. But wrenching one hand free, she began to tickle him until he
writhed away from her with a whoop, and dashed out of the door.
"Yah! 'Fraid cat!" she jeered after him. "Afraid of a tickle!"
"You just wait till I get back with the milk," he cried, catching up a
shining tin pail that stood on the bench, and starting down the path
over which Phil had just come.
[Illustration: MARY WARE in TEXAS.
Well, I'm going away and I may not see you again.]
"You'll have to hurry," she called after him. "Breakfast is almost
ready."
She stooped to open the oven door and peep at the pan of biscuit within,
just beginning to turn a delicate brown. Then she looked up and caught
sight of Phil. He was leaning against the window looking in, his arms
crossed on the sill as if he had been enjoying the spectacle for some
time.
"For mercy sakes!" she exclaimed. "How long have you been there?"
The coast was clear. Norman was well on his way to the Metz place, and
Mrs. Ware was helping Jack get ready for breakfast. It was as good an
opportunity as Phil could have hoped for, to repeat the speech he had
rehearsed so many times the night before. And she looked so fresh and
wholesome and sweet, standing there in her pink morning dress with the
big white apron, that she was more like an apple-blossom than anything
else he could think of. He wanted to tell her so; to tell her she had
never seemed so dear and desirable as she did at this moment, when he
must be going away to leave her.
Yet how could he tell her, when she was all a-giggle and a-dimple and
aglow from her romp with Norman? Clearly she was too far from his state
of mind to share it now, or even to understand it. After all, she was
only a little girl at heart--only eighteen. It wasn't fair to her to
awaken her quite yet--to hurry her into giving a promise when she
couldn't possibly know her own mind. He would wait--
So he only leaned on the window-sill and laughed at her for having been
caught in such an undignified romp, and asked her when she intended to
grow up, and if she ever expected to outgrow her propensity for
scrapping. But when he had joked thus a few minutes, he said, quite
suddenly and seriously, "Mary, I want you to promise me something."
She was taking the chickens from the broiler and did not look at him
until they were safely landed in the hot platter awaiting them, but she
said lightly, "Yes, your 'ighness. To the 'arf of me kingdom. Wot is
it?"
"Well, I'm going away and I may not see you again for a long time. The
chief wants me to take a position, engineering the construction of a big
dam down in Mexico. It would keep me down there two years, but it would
be the biggest thing I've had yet, in every way. Last night I just about
made up my mind I'd take it.
"While I'm gone you will be striking out into all sorts of new trails,
and I am afraid that on some of them somebody will come along and try to
persuade you to join him on his, even if you are such a little girl. Now
I want to have a hand in choosing the right man, and I want you to
promise me that you won't let anybody persuade you to do that till I
come back. Or at least if they do try, that you'll send me word that
they're trying, and give me a chance to come back and have a look at the
fellow, and see if I think he is good enough to carry you off."
"Why, the idea!" she laughed, a trifle embarrassed, but immensely
pleased that he should think it possible for her to have numerous
suitors or to have them soon, and flattered that he should take enough
interest in her future to want to be called back from Mexico to direct
her choice.
"But will you promise?" he urged.
"Yes; that is not much to promise."
"And you'll give me your hand on it?" he persisted.
"Yes, and cross my heart and body in the bargain," she added, lightly,
"if that'll please you any better."
For all his gravity, she thought he was jesting until she reached her
hand through the window to seal the compact.
"You know," he said, as his warm fingers closed over it, "I've never yet
seen anybody whom I considered good enough for little Mary Ware."
Her eyes fell before the seriousness of his steady glance, and she
turned away all in a flutter of pleasure that the "Best Man" should have
said such a lovely thing about _her_. It was the very thing she had
always thought about him.
Mrs. Ware came out just then, wheeling Jack in his chair, and soon after
Norman was back with the milk, and breakfast was served out on the porch
among the morning-glories. "A perfect breakfast and a perfect morning,"
Phil said. The 'bus which was to call for him came while they were still
lingering around the table, and there was only time for a hasty good-by
all around.
"Come and walk out to the gate with me, Mary, and give me a good
send-off," he said, hurriedly snatching up his suit-case.
Now in this last moment, when there was much to say, neither had a word,
and they walked along in silence until they reached the gate. There he
turned for one more hand-clasp.
"Remember your promise," he said, gravely, as his fingers closed warmly
over hers. "I meant every word I said."
"I'll remember," she answered, dimpling again as if he had reminded her
of a good joke; "and I'll keep my word. Honest, I will!"
With that he went away, carrying with him a picture which he recalled a
thousand times in the months that followed; Mary, standing at the gate
in the pink and white dress that had the freshness of a spring blossom,
with her sweet, sincere eyes and her dear little mouth saying, "I'll
keep my word! Honest, I will!"
It was a long, long, hot summer that followed. The drought dried up the
creek so that the boat lay idle on the bank. The dust grew deeper and
deeper in the roads and lay thick on the wayside weeds. Even the trees
were powdered with it; all the green of the landscape took on an ashen
grayness. Meadows lay parched and sere. Walking ceased to be a pleasure,
and as they gasped through the tropical heat of the endless afternoons,
they longed for the dense shade of the pines at Lone Rock, and counted
the days till they could go back.
But as soon as the sun dropped behind the hills each day, and the breeze
started up from the far-away Gulf, their discomfort was forgotten. In
the wonderful brilliance of the starry nights when there was no moon, or
in the times when one hung like a luminous pearl above a silver world,
the air grew fresh and cool, and they sat late in the open, making the
most of every minute. In the early mornings there was that same crisp
freshness of the hills again, so one could endure the merciless, yellow
glare and the panting heat of the afternoons, for the sake of the nights
and dawns.
Even without that, however, they would have been content to stay on,
enduring it gladly, for Jack was daily growing stronger; and to see him
moving about the house on his own feet, no matter how falteringly at
first, was a cause for hourly rejoicing.
Mary still played the part of Baloo with Brud and Sister, starting early
in the morning and taking them over to the old mill-dam, in the shade of
some big cypress and sycamore trees. She was teaching them to read and
write, but there was little poring over books for them. They built their
letters out of stones, and fashioned whole sentences of twigs; wrote
them in the sand and modelled them in mud, scratched them on rocks with
bits of flint, as Indians do their picture language, and pricked them
in the broad sycamore leaves with thorns. By the end of the summer they
had enough of a vocabulary to write a brief letter to their father, and
their pride knew no bounds when each had achieved one entirely alone,
from date to stamp, and dropped it into the box at the post-office. His
pride in them was equally great, and the letter that he sent Mary with
her final check was one of the few things which she carried away from
Texas as a cherished memento.
She did not write often in her Good Times book. There was so little to
chronicle. An occasional visit from the Barnaby's, a call at the
rectory, a few minutes spent in neighborly gossip in the Metz garden;
never once in the whole summer a happening more exciting than that,
except when the troops from Fort Sam Houston were ordered out on their
annual "hike" and passed through Bauer in July. Each of the different
divisions camped a day and a night in the grove back of the cottage,
near enough for the Wares to watch every manoeuvre. The Artillery band
played at sunset when it was in camp, and gave a concert that night in
the plaza. When the Cavalry passed through, Lieutenant Boglin came to
supper and spent the evening. Gay was up for a day twice, and Mary went
once to San Antonio. That was all. Yet stupid as it was for a girl of
her age, and much as she missed young companionship, Mary managed to get
through the summer very happily. All its unpleasantness was atoned for
one day in early September, when she looked out to see Jack going down
the road, straight and strong, pushing his own wheeled chair in front of
him. He was taking it down to Doctor Mackay's office to leave "for the
first poor devil who needs it," he said.
In the last few weeks he had discovered what he had not known before,
that the town was full of invalids in quest of health, attracted from
all over the country by the life-giving air of its hills. He had made
the acquaintance of a number of them since he had been able to ride
around with the doctor. Now, as he went off down the road with the
chair, with all of the family at the window to see the happy sight, Mrs.
Ware repeated to Mary what the doctor had said about Jack's effect on
his other patients, and what the rector had told her of the regard all
the villagers had for Jack.
"The dear boy's year of suffering has done one thing for the world," she
added. "It has given it another Aldebaran. Don't you remember in _The
Jester's Sword_--" She quoted it readily, because ever since she had
first seen it she had always read Jack's name in place of Aldebaran's:
"'_It came to pass whenever he went by, men felt a strange,
strength-giving influence radiating from his presence, a sense of hope.
One could not say exactly what it was, it was so fleeting, so
intangible, like warmth that circles from a brazier, or perfume that is
wafted from an unseen rose._' That's what one feels whenever Jack comes
near."
"Yes, I know," assented Mary. "Even old Mr. Metz tried to say as much to
me about him. He didn't choose those words, of course, but in his own
broken way he meant the same thing."
When the day came to leave, there was no one to go with them to the
station. The Rochesters were away on their vacation, and it was too
early in the morning for the Barnabys to come in from the ranch. They
had bidden each other good-by the day before, with deep regrets on both
sides. It seemed so good to both Mary and her mother to see Jack
attending to the tickets and the trunks in his old way, so quick and
capable. While he was getting the checks, Mary walked down the track a
little piece to a place where she could look back at the town for one
more picture to carry away in her memory.
How friendly and homelike and dear it seemed now. Between the belfry of
St. Peter's and the gray tower of Holy Angels, rose the smoke from many
breakfast fires, and the windmills twirled merrily in the morning sun.
For all its dreariness she was carrying away the recollection of a score
of happy times.
Over there was the free camp-yard, where their little Christmas tree had
spread such cheer. Further on shone the spire of St. Boniface. She would
always think of it as she saw it Easter morning, its casement windows
set wide, and its altar white with the snowy beauty of the rain lilies.
There was the meadow through which she had gone in blue-bonnet time, to
find Phil waiting under the _huisache_ tree, and there the creek,
running on to Fernbank. Nearer by she could see the windmill tower she
had so often climbed, sticking up over the roof that had sheltered them
during the ten months they had been in Bauer. "Dear little old Bauer,"
she thought, gratefully. She wouldn't have believed it in the beginning
if anyone had told her, that there would be any regrets in her
leave-taking when the time came to go. How wonderfully it had all turned
out. The crooked _had_ been made straight, and the rough places smooth.
She could face the future gladly, buoyantly, now, no matter what it
held, since Jack was well again.
"Come on, Mary, it's time to go aboard!" called Norman.
"You go on in, and save me a seat," she called back. "Here come the
children. I must wait to speak to them."
She had bidden them good-by the night before, and had not expected to
see them again. They came running, out of breath. Sister had a little
bag of animal crackers she had brought as a farewell offering, and Brud
proffered a companion-piece, a sack of sticky red cinnamon drops. They
had cried the night before, and they were close to tears now, realizing
that something very rare and precious was passing out of their lives.
She took their offerings with thanks that brought smiles to their
dejected little faces, then once more stooped to kiss them good-by.
"From now, it's new trails for all of us," she said, lightly, "and
you'll write and tell me what you find in yours, and I'll write and tell
you about mine."
On the platform of the car she turned for a last look at the three
disconsolate little figures, waiting to watch her start off towards
those new trails. There were three, for Uncle August had joined them
now, squatting mournfully beside them as if he, too, were losing his
best playfellow. The train began to move slowly out. As she clung to the
railing to wave to them one more time, a mournful little pipe followed
her shrilly down the track. It was Brud's voice:
"Good hunting, Miss Mayry! Good hunting!"
THE END.
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS
(Trade Mark)
_By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON_
_Each 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated, per vol._ $1.50
THE LITTLE COLONEL STORIES (Trade Mark)
Being three "Little Colonel" stories in the Cosy Corner Series, "The
Little Colonel," "Two Little Knights of Kentucky," and "The Great
Scissors," put into a single volume.
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOUSE PARTY (Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOLIDAYS (Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HERO (Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL AT BOARDING-SCHOOL (Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA (Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S CHRISTMAS VACATION (Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL, MAID OF HONOR (Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S KNIGHT COMES RIDING (Trade Mark)
MARY WARE: THE LITTLE COLONEL'S CHUM (Trade Mark)
MARY WARE IN TEXAS
_These eleven volumes, boxed as an eleven-volume set_ $16.50
THE LITTLE COLONEL (Trade Mark)
TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY
THE GIANT SCISSORS
BIG BROTHER
Special Holiday Editions
Each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $1.25
New plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page drawings in
color, and many marginal sketches.
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.
KEEPING TRYST
THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART
THE RESCUE OF PRINCESS WINSOME: A FAIRY PLAY FOR OLD AND YOUNG.
THE JESTER'S SWORD
Each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative $0.50
Paper boards .35
There has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of
these six stories which were originally included in six of the "Little
Colonel" books.
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.
THE LITTLE COLONEL GOOD TIMES BOOK
Uniform in size with the Little Colonel Series $1.50
Bound in white kid (morocco) and gold 3.00
Cover design and decorations by Peter Verberg.
Published in response to many inquiries from readers of the Little
Colonel books as to where they could obtain a "Good Times Book" such as
Betty kept.
THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK
Large quarto, boards $1.50
A series of "Little Colonel" dolls,--not only the Little Colonel
herself, but Betty and Kitty and Mary Ware, yes, and Rob, Phil, and many
another of the well-loved characters,--even Mom' Beck herself. There are
many of them and each has several changes of costume, so that the happy
group can be appropriately clad for the rehearsal of any scene or
incident in the series.
The large, cumbersome sheets of most of the so-called doll "books" have
been discarded, and instead each character, each costume, occupies a
sheet by itself, the dolls and costumes being cut out only as they are
wanted.
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."--_Boston Times._
THE RIVAL CAMPERS; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF HENRY BURNS. By RUEL PERLEY
SMITH.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
A 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 RIVAL CAMPERS AFLOAT; OR, THE PRIZE YACHT VIKING. By RUEL PERLEY
SMITH.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
This book is a continuation of the adventures of "The Rival Campers" on
their prize yacht _Viking_.
THE RIVAL CAMPERS ASHORE By RUEL PERLEY SMITH.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
"As interesting ashore as when afloat."--_The Interior._
THE RIVAL CAMPERS AMONG THE OYSTER PIRATES; OR, JACK HARVEY'S
ADVENTURES.
By RUEL PERLEY SMITH. Illustrated $1.50
"Just the type of book which is most popular with lads who are in their
early teens."--_The Philadelphia Item._
PRISONERS OF FORTUNE: A Tale of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. By RUEL
PERLEY SMITH.
Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $1.50
"There is an atmosphere of old New England in the book, the humor of the
born raconteur about the hero, who tells his story with the gravity of a
preacher, but with a solemn humor that is irresistible."--_Courier-Journal._
FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS. By CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON.
Large 12mo, With 24 illustrations $1.50
Biographical sketches, with interesting anecdotes and reminiscences of
the heroes of history who were leaders of cavalry.
"More of such books should be written, books that acquaint young readers
with historical personages in a pleasant informal way."--_N. Y. Sun._
FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS. By CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON.
Large 12mo, illustrated $1.50
In this book Mr. Johnston gives interesting sketches of the Indian
braves who have figured with prominence in the history of our own land,
including Powhatan, the Indian Cæsar; Massasoit, the friend of the
Puritans; Pontiac, the red Napoleon; Tecumseh, the famous war chief of
the Shawnees; Sitting Bull, the famous war chief of the Sioux; Geronimo,
the renowned Apache Chief, etc., etc.
FAMOUS SCOUTS. By CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON.
Large 12mo, illustrated $1.50
Mr. Johnston gives us historical facts and biographical sketches and
interesting anecdotes of those heroes of early pioneer days who made
names for themselves among the hardy adventurers who thronged the
border. There are tales of Gen. Israel Putnam; the celebrated Daniel
Boone; Kit Carson, the noted scout; Lewis and Clarke, the hardy
explorers; the world-renowned Buffalo Bill, and of many other famous
scouts, trappers and pioneers.
BEAUTIFUL JOE'S PARADISE: OR, THE ISLAND OF BROTHERLY LOVE. A sequel to
"Beautiful Joe." By MARSHALL SAUNDERS, author of "Beautiful Joe."
One vol., library 12mo, cloth, illustrated $1.50
"This book revives the spirit of 'Beautiful Joe' capitally. It is fairly
riotous with fun, and is about as unusual as anything in the animal book
line that has seen the light."--_Philadelphia Item._
'TILDA JANE. By MARSHALL SAUNDERS.
One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50
"I cannot think of any better book for children than this. I commend it
unreservedly."--_Cyrus Townsend Brady._
'TILDA JANE'S ORPHANS. A sequel to "'Tilda Jane." By MARSHALL SAUNDERS.
One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50
'Tilda Jane is the same original, delightful girl, and as fond of her
animal pets as ever.
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.
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.
IN WEST POINT GRAY By FLORENCE KIMBALL RUSSEL.
12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
"Singularly enough one of the best books of the year for boys is written
by a woman and deals with life at West Point. The presentment of life in
the famous military academy whence so many heroes have graduated is
realistic and enjoyable."--_New York Sun._
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._
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 met with such approval that
this second book of "Sandman" tales was issued for scores of eager
children. Life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his
inimitable manner.
THE SANDMAN: HIS SHIP STORIES By WILLIAM J. HOPKINS, author of "The
Sandman: His Farm Stories," etc.
Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50
"Children call for these stories over and over again."--_Chicago Evening
Post._
THE SANDMAN: HIS SEA STORIES By WILLIAM J. HOPKINS.
Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50
Each year adds to the popularity of this unique series of stories to be
read to the little ones at bed time and at other times.
A TEXAS BLUE BONNET By EMILIA ELLIOTT.
12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
This is the story of a warm-hearted, impulsive and breezy girl of the
Southwest, who has lived all her life on a big ranch. She comes to the
far East for a long visit, and her experiences "up North" are indeed
delightful reading. Blue Bonnet is sure to win the hearts of all girl
readers.
THE DOCTOR'S LITTLE GIRL By MARION AMES TAGGART, author of "Pussy-Cat
Town," etc.
One vol., library 12mo, illustrated $1.50
A thoroughly enjoyable tale of a little girl and her comrade father,
written in a delightful vein of sympathetic comprehension of the child's
point of view.
SWEET NANCY THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE DOCTOR'S LITTLE GIRL. By
MARION AMES TAGGART.
One vol., library, 12mo, illustrated $1.50
In the new book, the author tells how Nancy becomes in fact "the
doctor's assistant," and continues to shed happiness around her.
CARLOTA A STORY OF THE SAN GABRIEL MISSION. By FRANCES MARGARET FOX.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated
in colors by Ethelind Ridgway $1.00
"It is a pleasure to recommend this little story as an entertaining
contribution to juvenile literature."--_The New York Sun._
THE SEVEN CHRISTMAS CANDLES By FRANCES MARGARET FOX.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated
in colors by E. B. Barry $1.00
Miss Fox's new book deals with the fortunes of the delightful Mulvaney
children.
SEVEN LITTLE WISE MEN By FRANCES MARGARET FOX.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by
E. B. Barry $1.00
In this new story Miss Fox relates how seven little children, who lived
in Sunny California, prepared for the great Christmas Festival.
PUSSY-CAT TOWN By MARION AMES TAGGART.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated
in colors $1.00
"Anything more interesting than the doings of the cats in this story,
their humor, their wisdom, their patriotism, would be hard to
imagine."--_Chicago Post._
THE ROSES OF SAINT ELIZABETH By JANE SCOTT WOODRUFF.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated
in colors 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.
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.
A LITTLE SHEPHERD OF PROVENCE By EVALEEN STEIN.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated in colors by
Diantha Horne Marlowe $1.00
This is the story of Little lame Jean, a goatherd of Provence, and of
the "golden goat" who is supposed to guard a hidden treasure.
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
"An up-to-date French fairy-tale which fairly radiates the spirit of the
hour,--unceasing diligence."--_Chicago Record-Herald._
O-HEART-SAN THE STORY OF A JAPANESE GIRL. By HELEN EGGLESTON HASKELL.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated
in colors by Frank P. Fairbanks $1.00
"The story comes straight from the heart of Japan. From every page
breathes the fragrance of tea leaves, cherry blossoms and
chrysanthemums."--_The Chicago Inter-Ocean._
THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF ALLAN WEST. By BURTON E.
STEVENSON.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $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.
THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER. By BURTON E. STEVENSON.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
"A better book for boys has never left an American press."--_Springfield
Union._
THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER. By BURTON E. STEVENSON.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
"Nothing better in the way of a book of adventure for boys in which the
actualities of life are set forth in a practical way could be devised or
written."--_Boston Herald._
CAPTAIN JACK LORIMER. By WINN STANDISH.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
Jack is a fine example of the all-around American high-school boy.
JACK LORIMER'S CHAMPIONS; OR, SPORTS ON LAND AND LAKE. By WINN STANDISH.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
"It is exactly the sort of book to give a boy interested in athletics,
for it shows him what it means to always 'play fair.'"--_Chicago
Tribune._
JACK LORIMER'S HOLIDAYS; OR, MILLVALE HIGH IN CAMP. By WINN STANDISH.
Illustrated $1.50
Full of just the kind of fun, sports and adventure to excite the healthy
minded youngster to emulation.
JACK LORIMER'S SUBSTITUTE; OR, THE ACTING CAPTAIN OF THE TEAM. By WINN
STANDISH.
Illustrated $1.50
On the sporting side, this book takes up football, wrestling,
tobogganing, but it is more of a _school_ story perhaps than any of its
predecessors.
THE RED FEATHERS. By THEODORE ROBERTS
Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
"The Red Feathers" tells of the remarkable adventures of an Indian boy
who lived in the Stone Age, many years ago, when the world was young.
FLYING PLOVER. By THEODORE ROBERTS.
Cloth decorative. Illustrated by Charles Livingston
Bull $1.00
Squat-By-The-Fire is a very old and wise Indian who lives alone with her
grandson, "Flying Plover," to whom she tells the stories each evening.
COMRADES OF THE TRAILS. By G. E. THEODORE ROBERTS.
Cloth decorative. Illustrated by Charles Livingston
Bull $1.50
The story of a fearless young English lad, Dick Ramsey, who, after the
death of his father, crosses the seas and takes up the life of a hunter
and trapper in the Canadian forests.
LITTLE WHITE INDIANS. By FANNIE E. OSTRANDER.
Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.25
"A bright, interesting story which will appeal strongly to the
'make-believe' instinct in children, and will give them a healthy,
active interest in 'the simple life.'"
THE BOY WHO WON By FANNIE E. OSTRANDER, author of "Little White
Indians."
12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by R. Farrington
Elwell $1.25
A companion volume to "Little White Indians" continuing the adventures
of the different "tribes," whose "doings" were so interestingly told in
the earlier volume.
MARCHING WITH MORGAN. HOW DONALD LOVELL BECAME A SOLDIER OF THE
REVOLUTION. By JOHN V. LANE.
Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
This is a splendid boy's story of the expedition of Montgomery and
Arnold against Quebec.
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 Stephen, 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 introduces this story 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.
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.
A PURITAN KNIGHT ERRANT
The story tells of a young lad in Colonial times who endeavored to carry
out the high ideals of the knights of olden days.
_By OUIDA_ (_Louise de la Ramee_)
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 neighbors 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.
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 COUNTRY CHRISTMAS
Miss Fox has vividly described the happy surprises that made the
occasion so memorable to the Mulvaneys, and the funny things the
children did in their new environment.
_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.
_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 01 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 Mr. 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.
THE YOUNG ACADIAN
The story of a young lad of Acadia who rescued a little English girl
from the hands of savages.
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 JULIANA HORATIO EWING_
STORY OF A SHORT LIFE
This beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old. It is a part of
the world's literature, and will never die.
JACKANAPES
A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite and touching
story, dear alike to young and old.
A GREAT EMERGENCY
A bright little story of a happy, mischievous family of children.
_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
_By BISHOP CLARK_
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.
RAB AND HIS FRIENDS
_By DR. JOHN BROWN_
Doctor Brown's little masterpiece is too well known to need description.
The dog Rab is already known and loved by all.
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY: A MODERN VERSION.
_By MARTHA B. DUNN_
This charming story of a little fishermaid of Maine, intellectually
"asleep" until she meets the "Fairy Prince," reminds us of "Ouida" at
her best.
SUSANNE
_By FRANCES J. DELANO_
Susanne is a story of a motherless little girl with a wonderful voice
who is taken to the city to be educated by a rich aunt, but runs away
from the city and returns home.
A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR
_By CHARLES DICKENS_
One of those beautiful, fanciful little allegories which Dickens alone
knew how to write.
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 "Tobey 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.
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 one 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 Alaskan Cousin By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Arabian Cousin By Blanche McManus
Our Little Armenian Cousin
Our Little Australian Cousin By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Brazilian Cousin By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
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 Egyptian 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 Grecian Cousin By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
Our Little Hindu Cousin By Blanche McManus
Our Little Hungarian Cousin By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
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 Persian Cousin By E. C. Shedd
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
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.
This text uses "Weinachtsbaum" instead of "Weihnachtsbaum" many
times and was left as printed.
Page 21, "Jask" changed to "Jack" ("Well?" queried Jack as)
Page 68, "embarassment" changed to "embarrassment" (my perch with
embarrassment)
Page 162, "to" changed to "too" (may as well go too)
Page 189, "that's" changed to "that" (and the next that she's)
Page 223, "irridescent" changed to "iridescent" (minutes. The
iridescent)
Page 232, "palate" changed to "palette" (get out palette and brushes)
Page 246, "role" changed to "rôle" (in the rôle of)
Page 323, "corrider" changed to "corridor" (stood in the corridor)
Page 324, "sea" changed to "seat" (circular seat surrounding)
Advertising Pages:
Page 4, "Ceronimo" changed to "Geronimo" (Geronimo, the renowned Apache)
Page 4, "atc." changed to "etc." (Apache chief, etc.)
Page 14, "d scribing" changed to "describing" (sketches describing the
early)
Page 20, Our Little Alaskan Cousins, "Nixon-Roule" changed to
"Nixon-Roulet" (Mary F. Nixon-Roulet)