ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rose in Bloom, by Louisa May AlcottThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Rose in Bloom       A Sequel to "Eight Cousins"Author: Louisa May AlcottPostingDate: December 31, 2008 [EBook #2804]Release Date: September, 2001Language: English*** STARTOF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSE IN BLOOM ***Produced by David ReedROSE IN BLOOMASequel to "Eight Cousins"By Louisa May AlcottPrefaceAs authors may be supposed to know better thananyone else what theyintended to do when writing a book, I beg leave to say that there isno moral to thisstory. Rose is not designed for a model girl, and theSequel was simply written in fulfillment of a promise,hoping to affordsome amusement, and perhaps here and there a helpful hint, to otherroses getting readyto bloom.L. M. AlcottSeptember 1876Contents     Chapter  1. Coming Home     Chapter  2.  Old Friendswith New Faces     Chapter  3.  Miss Campbell     Chapter  4.  Thorns Among theRoses     Chapter  5.  Prince Charming     Chapter  6.  PolishingMac     Chapter  7.  Phebe     Chapter  8.  Breakers Ahead     Chapter  9.  New Year'sCalls     Chapter  10.  The Sad and Sober Part     Chapter  11.  Small Temptations     Chapter  12.  AtKitty's Ball     Chapter  13.  Both Sides     Chapter  14.  Aunt Clara's Plan     Chapter  15.  Alas forCharlie!     Chapter  16.  Good Works     Chapter  17.  Among the Haycocks     Chapter  18.  Which WasIt?     Chapter  19.  Behind the Fountain     Chapter  20.  What Mac Did     Chapter  21.  How PhebeEarned Her Welcome     Chapter  22.  Short and SweetChapter 1 COMING HOMEThree young men stoodtogether on a wharf one bright October dayawaiting the arrival of an ocean steamer with an impatiencewhich founda vent in lively skirmishes with a small lad, who pervaded the premiseslike a will-o'-the-wispand afforded much amusement to the other groupsassembled there."They are the Campbells, waiting fortheir cousin, who has been abroadseveral years with her uncle, the doctor," whispered one lady toanotheras the handsomest of the young men touched his hat to her as he passed,lugging the boy, whomhe had just rescued from a little expedition downamong the piles."Which is that?" asked thestranger."Prince Charlie, as he's called a fine fellow, the most promising of theseven, but a little fast,people say," answered the first speaker with ashake of the head."Are the others his brothers?""No,cousins. The elder is Archie, a most exemplary young man. He hasjust gone into business with themerchant uncle and bids fair to be anhonor to his family. The other, with the eyeglasses and no gloves,isMac, the odd one, just out of college.""And the boy?""Oh, he is Jamie, the youngest brother ofArchibald, and the pet of thewhole family. Mercy on us he'll be in if they don't hold on to him!"The ladies'chat came to a sudden end just there, for by the timeJamie had been fished out of a hogshead, thesteamer hove in sight andeverything else was forgotten. As it swung slowly around to enter thedock, aboyish voice shouted, "There she is! I see her and Uncle andPhebe! Hooray for Cousin Rose!" And threesmall cheers were given witha will by Jamie as he stood on a post waving his arms like a windmillwhile hisbrother held onto the tail of his jacket.Yes, there they were Uncle Alec swinging his hat like a boy, withPhebesmiling and nodding on one side and Rose kissing both hands delightedlyon the other as sherecognized familiar faces and heard familiar voiceswelcoming her home."Bless her dear heart, she'sbonnier than ever! Looks like a Madonnadoesn't she? with that blue cloak round her, and her bright hairflyingin the wind!" said Charlie excitedly as they watched the group upon thedeck with eagereyes."Madonnas don't wear hats like that. Rose hasn't changed much, but Phebehas. Why, she's aregular beauty!" answered Archie, staring with all hismight at the dark-eyed young woman with thebrilliant color and glossyblack braids shining in the sun."Dear old Uncle! Doesn't it seem good to have himback?" was all Macsaid, but he was not looking at "dear old uncle" as he made the ferventremark, for hesaw only the slender blond girl nearby and stretched outhis hands to meet hers, forgetful of the greenwater tumbling betweenthem.During the confusion that reigned for a moment as the steamer settledtoher moorings, Rose looked down into the four faces upturned to hers andseemed to read in themsomething that both pleased and pained her. Itwas only a glance, and her own eyes were full, but


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of West Indian Fables by James Anthony FroudeExplained by J. J.Thomas, by J. J. (John Jacob) ThomasThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost andwithalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of theProject Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: West IndianFables by James Anthony Froude Explained by J. J. ThomasAuthor: J. J. (John Jacob) ThomasPostingDate: June 13, 2009 [EBook #4068]Release Date: May, 2003First Posted: November 1, 2001Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WEST INDIAN FABLES ***Produced by AlfredJ. Drake.  HTML version by Al Haines.FROUDACITY (1889)J.J. ThomasWEST INDIAN FABLES BY JAMESANTHONY FROUDEEXPLAINED BY J. J. THOMASContentsPreface by J.J. ThomasBOOK I.  Introduction:27-33  Voyage out: 34-41  Barbados: 41-44  St. Vincent: 44-48  Grenada: 48-50BOOK II.  Trinidad:53-55  Reform in Trinidad: 55-80  Negro Felicity in the West Indies: 81-110BOOK III.  Social Revolution:113-174  West Indian Confederation: 175-200  The Negro as a Worker: 201-206  Religion for Negroes:207-230BOOK IV.  Historical Summary or RÃ©sumÃ©: 233-261, endFROUDACITYPREFACE[5] Last yearhad well advanced towards its middle--in fact it wasalready April, 1888--before Mr. Froude's book oftravels in the WestIndies became known and generally accessible to readers in thoseColonies.My perusalof it in Grenada about the period above mentioned disclosed,thinly draped with rhetorical flowers, thedark outlines of a scheme tothwart political aspiration in the Antilles.  That project is sought tobe realizedby deterring the home authorities from granting an electivelocal legislature, however restricted incharacter, to any of theColonies not yet enjoying such an advantage. An argument based onthecomposition of the inhabitants of those Colonies is confidently reliedupon to confirm the inexorablemood of Downing Street.[6] Over-large and ever-increasing,--so runs the argument,--the Africanelementin the population of the West Indies is, from its past historyand its actual tendencies, a standing menaceto the continuance ofcivilization and religion.  An immediate catastrophe, social,political, and moral,would most assuredly be brought about by thegranting of full elective rights to dependencies thusinhabited.Enlightened statesmanship should at once perceive the immense benefitthat would ultimatelyresult from such refusal of the franchise.  Thecardinal recommendation of that refusal is that it wouldavertdefinitively the political domination of the Blacks, which mustinevitably be the outcome of anyconcession of the modicum of right soearnestly desired.  The exclusion of the Negro vote beinginexpedient,if not impossible, the exercise of electoral powers by the Blacks mustlead to their returningcandidates of their own race to the locallegislatures, and that, too, in numbers preponderating accordingto themajority of the Negro electors.  The Negro legislators thus supreme inthe councils of the Colonieswould straightway proceed to passvindictive and retaliatory laws against their white fellow-[7]colonists.  For it is only fifty years since the White man and theBlack man stood in the reciprocalrelations of master and slave.Whilst those relations subsisted, the white masters inflicted, and theblackslaves had to endure, the hideous atrocities that are inseparablefrom the system of slavery.  SinceEmancipation, the enormous stridesmade in self-advancement by the ex-slaves have only had the effectofprovoking a resentful uneasiness in the bosoms of the ex-masters.  Theformer bondsmen, on their side,and like their brethren of Hayti, areeaten up with implacable, blood-thirsty rancour against theirformerlords and owners.  The annals of Hayti form quite a cabinet ofpolitical and social object lessonswhich, in the eyes of Britishstatesmen, should be invaluable in showing the true method of dealingwithEthiopic subjects of the Crown.  The Negro race in Hayti, in orderto obtain and to guard what it calls itsfreedom, has outraged everyhumane instinct and falsified every benevolent hope.  Theslave-ownersthere had not been a whit more cruel than slave-owners in the otherislands.  But, in spite ofthis, how ferocious, how sanguinary, [8] howrelentless against them has the vengeance of the Blacksbeen in theirhour of mastery!  A century has passed away since then, and,notwithstanding that, thehatred of Whites still rankles in theirsouls, and is cherished and yielded to as a national creed and guideofconduct.  Colonial administrators of the mighty British Empire, thelesson which History has taught andyet continues to teach you in Haytias to the best mode of dealing with your Ethiopic colonists liespatent,


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Degeneration, by Max NordauThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost norestrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe ProjectGutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in theUnited States, you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using thisebook.Title: DegenerationAuthor: Max NordauRelease Date: February 9, 2016 [EBook #51161]Language:EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEGENERATION***Produced by Giovanni Fini, David Edwards and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.netTRANSCRIBERâS NOTES:--Obvious print and punctuation errors werecorrected.--Whereas adequate characters are not available, superscript has beenrendered as a^b anda^{bc}.                             DEGENERATION                          BY THE SAMEAUTHOR.                      _Uniform with this Volume._                         CONVENTIONAL LIESOF                           OUR CIVILIZATION.                   PARADOXES.                      LONDON: WILLIAMHEINEMANN.                             DEGENERATION                                  BY                              MAXNORDAU                               AUTHOR OF      âCONVENTIONAL LIES OF OUR CIVILIZATION,ââPARADOXES,â ETC.                  Translated from the Second Edition                          of theGerman Work                            PopularEdition                                LONDON                           WILLIAMHEINEMANN                                 1898                        [_All rights reserved_]                _FirstEdition_      _February, 1895._                 _New Impressions, March 4, 1895;                     March 22,1895; April, 1895; May,                     1895; June, 1895; August, 1895;                     November, 1895;(Popular Edition),                     September,1898._                               Dedicated                                  TO                            CÃSARLOMBROSO,           PROFESSOR OF PSYCHIATRY AND FORENSIC MEDICINE AT                    THE ROYALUNIVERSITY OF TURIN,                                  BY                              THEAUTHOR.                                  TO                       PROFESSOR CÃSARLOMBROSO,                               _TURIN_.      _DEAR AND HONOURED MASTER_ ,_I dedicate this bookto you, in open and joyful recognition of thefact that without your labours it could never have beenwritten.__The notion of degeneracy, first introduced into science by Morel, anddeveloped with so muchgenius by yourself, has in your hands alreadyshown itself extremely fertile in the most diverse directions.Onnumerous obscure points of psychiatry, criminal law, politics, andsociology, you have poured averitable flood of light, which thosealone have not perceived who obdurately close their eyes, or whoaretoo short-sighted to derive benefit from any enlightenment whatsoever.__But there is a vast andimportant domain into which neither you noryour disciples have hitherto borne the torch of yourmethod--the domainof art and literature.__Degenerates are not always criminals, prostitutes, anarchists,andpronounced lunatics; they are often authors and artists. These,however, manifest the same mentalcharacteristics, and for the mostpart the same somatic features, as the members of theabove-mentionedanthropological family, who satisfy their unhealthy impulses with theknife of theassassin or the bomb of the dynamiter, instead of with penand pencil.__Some among these degeneratesin literature, music, and painting havein recent years come into extraordinary prominence, and arerevered bynumerous admirers as creators of a new art, and heralds of the comingcenturies.__Thisphenomenon is not to be disregarded. Books and works of artexercise a powerful suggestion on themasses. It is from theseproductions that an age derives its ideals of morality and beauty. Ifthey areabsurd and anti-social, they exert a disturbing and corruptinginfluence on the views of a wholegeneration. Hence the latter,especially the impressionable youth, easily excited to enthusiasm forall thatis strange and seemingly new, must be warned and enlightenedas to the real nature of the creations soblindly admired. This warningthe ordinary critic does not give. Exclusively literary and Ã¦stheticculture is,moreover, the worst preparation conceivable for a trueknowledge of the pathological character of the


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Coming Attraction, by Fritz LeiberThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost norestrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe ProjectGutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in theUnited States, you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using thisebook.Title: Coming AttractionAuthor: Fritz LeiberRelease Date: January 30, 2016 [EBook#51082]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMING ATTRACTION***Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net                           Coming Attraction                            BY FRITZLEIBER                       Illustrated by Paul Calle           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was producedfrom                 Galaxy Science Fiction November 1950.         Extensive research did not uncover anyevidence that         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]           Women will always go ontrying to attract men ...             even when the future seems to have no future!The coupe with thefishhooks welded to the fender shouldered up overthe curb like the nose of a nightmare. The girl in itspath stoodfrozen, her face probably stiff with fright under her mask. For once myreflexes weren't shy. Itook a fast step toward her, grabbed her elbow,yanked her back. Her black skirt swirled out.The bigcoupe shot by, its turbine humming. I glimpsed three faces.Something ripped. I felt the hot exhaust onmy ankles as the bigcoupe swerved back into the street. A thick cloud like a black flowerblossomed fromits jouncing rear end, while from the fishhooks flew ablack shimmering rag."Did they get you?" I askedthe girl.She had twisted around to look where the side of her skirt was tornaway. She was wearing nylontights."The hooks didn't touch me," she said shakily. "I guess I'm lucky."I heard voices around us:"Thosekids! What'll they think up next?""They're a menace. They ought to be arrested."Sirens screamed at arising pitch as two motor-police, theirrocket-assist jets full on, came whizzing toward us after thecoupe.But the black flower had become a thick fog obscuring the whole street.The motor-police switchedfrom rocket assists to rocket brakes andswerved to a stop near the smoke cloud."Are you English?" thegirl asked me. "You have an English accent."Her voice came shudderingly from behind the sleek blacksatin mask.I fancied her teeth must be chattering. Eyes that were perhaps bluesearched my face frombehind the black gauze covering the eyeholes ofthe mask. I told her she'd guessed right. She stood closeto me. "Willyou come to my place tonight?" she asked rapidly. "I can't thank younow. And there'ssomething you can help me about."My arm, still lightly circling her waist, felt her body trembling. Iwasanswering the plea in that as much as in her voice when I said,"Certainly." She gave me an addresssouth of Inferno, an apartmentnumber and a time. She asked me my name and I told her."Hey, you!"Iturned obediently to the policeman's shout. He shooed away the smallclucking crowd of masked womenand barefaced men. Coughing from thesmoke that the black coupe had thrown out, he asked for mypapers. Ihanded him the essential ones.       *       *       *       *       *He looked at them and then at me."British Barter? How long will you bein New York?"Suppressing the urge to say, "For as short a time aspossible," I toldhim I'd be here for a week or so."May need you as a witness," he explained. "Those kidscan't use smokeon us. When they do that, we pull them in."He seemed to think the smoke was the badthing. "They tried to kill thelady," I pointed out.He shook his head wisely. "They always pretend they'regoing to, butactually they just want to snag skirts. I've picked up rippers withas many as fifty skirt-snagstacked up in their rooms. Of course,sometimes they come a little too close."I explained that if I hadn'tyanked her out of the way, she'd have beenhit by more than hooks. But he interrupted, "If she'd thoughtit was areal murder attempt, she'd have stayed here."I looked around. It was true. She was gone."Shewas fearfully frightened," I told him."Who wouldn't be? Those kids would have scared old Stalinhimself.""I mean frightened of more than 'kids.' They didn't look like 'kids.'""What did they look like?"Itried without much success to describe the three faces. A vagueimpression of viciousness and effeminacydoesn't mean much."Well, I could be wrong," he said finally. "Do you know the girl? Whereshelives?""No," I half lied.The other policeman hung up his radiophone and ambled toward us,kicking at the


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Heartbreak House, by George Bernard ShawThis eBook is for the useof anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Heartbreak HouseAuthor: George Bernard ShawPosting Date: January 13, 2009[EBook #3543]Release Date: November, 2002Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK HEARTBREAK HOUSE ***Produced by Eve SobolHEARTBREAK HOUSEA FANTASIA INTHE RUSSIAN MANNER ON ENGLISH THEMESBy Bernard Shaw1913-1916HEARTBREAK HOUSE ANDHORSEBACK HALLWhere Heartbreak House StandsHeartbreak House is not merely the name of the playwhich follows thispreface. It is cultured, leisured Europe before the war. When theplay was begun not ashot had been fired; and only the professionaldiplomatists and the very few amateurs whose hobby isforeign policyeven knew that the guns were loaded. A Russian playwright, Tchekov, hadproduced fourfascinating dramatic studies of Heartbreak House, ofwhich three, The Cherry Orchard, Uncle Vanya, andThe Seagull, had beenperformed in England. Tolstoy, in his Fruits of Enlightenment, had shownus throughit in his most ferociously contemptuous manner. Tolstoy didnot waste any sympathy on it: it was to himthe house in which Europewas stifling its soul; and he knew that our utter enervation andfutilization inthat overheated drawingroom atmosphere was deliveringthe world over to the control of ignorant andsoulless cunning andenergy, with the frightful consequences which have now overtakenit. Tolstoy was nopessimist: he was not disposed to leave the housestanding if he could bring it down about the ears of itspretty andamiable voluptuaries; and he wielded the pickaxe with a will. He treatedthe case of the inmatesas one of opium poisoning, to be dealt with byseizing the patients roughly and exercising them violentlyuntil theywere broad awake. Tchekov, more of a fatalist, had no faith in thesecharming people extricatingthemselves. They would, he thought, be soldup and sent adrift by the bailiffs; and he therefore had noscruple inexploiting and even flattering their charm.The InhabitantsTchekov's plays, being less lucrativethan swings and roundabouts,got no further in England, where theatres are only ordinarycommercialaffairs, than a couple of performances by the Stage Society. We staredand said, "HowRussian!" They did not strike me in that way. Justas Ibsen's intensely Norwegian plays exactly fittedevery middle andprofessional class suburb in Europe, these intensely Russian playsfitted all the countryhouses in Europe in which the pleasures of music,art, literature, and the theatre had supplanted hunting,shooting,fishing, flirting, eating, and drinking. The same nice people, the sameutter futility. The nicepeople could read; some of them couldwrite; and they were the sole repositories of culture who hadsocialopportunities of contact with our politicians, administrators, andnewspaper proprietors, or anychance of sharing or influencing theiractivities. But they shrank from that contact. They hated politics.Theydid not wish to realize Utopia for the common people: they wished torealize their favorite fictionsand poems in their own lives; and, whenthey could, they lived without scruple on incomes which they didnothingto earn. The women in their girlhood made themselves look like varietytheatre stars, and settleddown later into the types of beauty imaginedby the previous generation of painters. They took the onlypart of oursociety in which there was leisure for high culture, and made it aneconomic, political and; asfar as practicable, a moral vacuum; and asNature, abhorring the vacuum, immediately filled it up withsex and withall sorts of refined pleasures, it was a very delightful place at itsbest for moments ofrelaxation. In other moments it was disastrous. Forprime ministers and their like, it was a veritableCapua.Horseback HallBut where were our front benchers to nest if not here? The alternativeto HeartbreakHouse was Horseback Hall, consisting of a prison forhorses with an annex for the ladies and gentlemenwho rode them, huntedthem, talked about them, bought them and sold them, and gave nine-tenthsoftheir lives to them, dividing the other tenth between charity,churchgoing (as a substitute for religion),and conservativeelectioneering (as a substitute for politics). It is true that the twoestablishments gotmixed at the edges. Exiles from the library, themusic room, and the picture gallery would be foundlanguishing among thestables, miserably discontented; and hardy horsewomen who slept at thefirstchord of Schumann were born, horribly misplaced, into the gardenof Klingsor; but sometimes one came


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Marianela, by Benito PÃ©rez GaldÃ³sThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost norestrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe ProjectGutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in theUnited States, you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using thisebook.Title: MarianelaAuthor: Benito PÃ©rez GaldÃ³sTranslator: Clara BellRelease Date: April 28, 2015[EBook #48818]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARIANELA***Produced by Josep Cols Canals, Roberto Marabini and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net(This file was produced from images generously madeavailable by The InternetArchive/American Libraries.)Transcriber's Notes: Format Conventions  Italic text is denoted by_underscores_  Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=  Superscripts are denoted by '^{XX}'. Forexample: 1^{st}  MARIANELA  BY  B. PEREZ GALDÃS  Author of "Gloria," etc.  From the Spanish byCLARA BELL  REVISED AND CORRECTED IN THE UNITED STATES  NEW YORK  WILLIAM S.GOTTSBERGER, PUBLISHER  11 MURRAY STREET  1883  Entered according to Act of Congress, in theyear 1883  By William S. Gottsberger  In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington  THISTRANSLATION WAS MADE EXPRESSLY FOR THE PUBLISHER  Press of  William S. Gottsberger  NewYorkTRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.Those who have read "Gloria" will, it is hoped, hail with pleasureanotherwork by the same writer, Perez GaldÃ³s--different it is true,but in its way not less delightful.Thestrongly-marked humor and darkly-painted tragedy of "Gloria" arenot to be found in "Marianela;" thecharacters are distinct and crisplysketched, but with a tender hand, the catastrophe is pitiable,rathershocking; the whole tone is idyllic.I have not hesitated to translate literally the Spanish wordsofendearment; for though they are foreign to the calmer spirit of ournorthern tongue they are toocharacteristic to be lost, and they arestrangely pathetic as the only outlet found for the imprisonedspiritof the hapless little heroine.  CLARABELL.CONTENTS.  CHAP.                                     PAGE.  I.--GoneAstray.                              1  II.--Guided Right.                           10  III.--A Dialogue which explainsmuch.        24  IV.--Stony Hearts.                           35  V.--Labor, and a Landscape withFigures.     52  VI.--Absurdities.                            62  VII.--MoreAbsurdities.                      73  VIII.--And yet more.                         84  IX.--The BrothersGolfin.                    98  X.--Nobody's Children.                      117  XI.--The Patriarch ofAldeacorba.           124  XII.--Doctor Celipin.                       136  XIII.--Between twoBaskets.                 144  XIV.--How the Virgin Mary appeared to Nela. 151  XV.--The ThreeChildren.                    164  XVI.--The Vow.                              172  XVII.--AFugitive.                          179  XVIII.--Nela decides that she must go.      192  XIX.--Nela isTamed.                        201  XX.--A New World.                           220  XXI.--Eyes thatKill.                       234  XXII.--Farewell.                            260MARIANELA.CHAPTER I.GONEASTRAY.The sun had set. After the brief interval of twilight the night fellcalm and dark, and in its gloomybosom the last sounds of a sleepyworld died gently away. The traveller went forward on hisway,hastening his step as night came on; the path he followed was narrowand worn by the constanttread of men and beasts, and led gently up ahill on whose verdant slopes grew picturesque clumps of wildcherrytrees, beeches and oaks.--The reader perceives that we are in the northof Spain.Our traveller wasa man of middle age, strongly built, tall andbroad-shouldered; his movements were brisk and resolute,his stepfirm, his manner somewhat rugged, his eye bold and bright; his pacewas nimble, considering thathe was decidedly stout, and he was--thereader may at once be told, though somewhat prematurely--asgood asoul as you may meet with anywhere. He was dressed, as a man in easycircumstances should bedressed for a journey in spring weather, withone of those round shady hats, which, from their ugly shape,have beennicknamed mushrooms (_hongo_), a pair of field-glasses hanging to astrap, and a knottedstick which, when he did not use it to support hissteps, served to push aside the brambles when they


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies, by Beatrix PotterThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Tale of the Flopsy BunniesAuthor: Beatrix PotterRelease Date: November30, 2004 [EBook #14220]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALEOF THE FLOPSY BUNNIES ***Produced by Michael Ciesielski and the Online DistributedProofreadingTeam.[Illustration][Illustration]    THE TALE OF    THE FLOPSY BUNNIES    BY    BEATRIXPOTTER    _Author of    "The Tale of Peter Rabbit," &c._[Illustration]    FREDERICK WARNE & CO.,INC.    NEW YORK    1909    FOR ALL LITTLE FRIENDS    OF    MR. MCGREGOR & PETER &BENJAMIN[Illustration]It is said that the effect of eating too much lettuce is "soporific."_I_ have neverfelt sleepy after eating lettuces; but then _I_ am not arabbit.They certainly had a very soporific effectupon the Flopsy Bunnies!When Benjamin Bunny grew up, he married his Cousin Flopsy. They had alargefamily, and they were very improvident and cheerful.I do not remember the separate names of theirchildren; they weregenerally called the "Flopsy Bunnies."[Illustration][Illustration]As there was notalways quite enough to eat,--Benjamin used to borrowcabbages from Flopsy's brother, Peter Rabbit, whokept a nursery garden.Sometimes Peter Rabbit had no cabbages to spare.[Illustration][Illustration]Whenthis happened, the Flopsy Bunnies went across the field to a rubbishheap, in the ditch outside Mr.McGregor's garden.Mr. McGregor's rubbish heap was a mixture. There were jam pots and paperbags, andmountains of chopped grass from the mowing machine (which alwaystasted oily), and some rottenvegetable marrows and an old boot or two.One day--oh joy!--there were a quantity of overgrownlettuces, which had"shot" into flower.[Illustration]The Flopsy Bunnies simply stuffed lettuces. By degrees,one after another,they were overcome with slumber, and lay down in the mown grass.Benjamin was notso much overcome as his children. Before going to sleephe was sufficiently wide awake to put a paperbag over his head to keepoff the flies.The little Flopsy Bunnies slept delightfully in the warm sun. Fromthelawn beyond the garden came the distant clacketty sound of the mowingmachine. The bluebottlesbuzzed about the wall, and a little old mousepicked over the rubbish among the jam pots.(I can tell youher name, she was called Thomasina Tittlemouse, awoodmouse with a longtail.)[Illustration][Illustration]She rustled across the paper bag, and awakened Benjamin Bunny.Themouse apologized profusely, and said that she knew Peter Rabbit.While she and Benjamin were talking,close under the wall, they heard aheavy tread above their heads; and suddenly Mr. McGregor emptiedout asackful of lawn mowings right upon the top of the sleeping Flopsy Bunnies!Benjamin shrank downunder his paper bag. The mouse hid in a jam pot.[Illustration][Illustration]The little rabbits smiledsweetly in their sleep under the shower ofgrass; they did not awake because the lettuces had been sosoporific.They dreamt that their mother Flopsy was tucking them up in a hay bed.Mr. McGregor lookeddown after emptying his sack. He saw some funny littlebrown tips of ears sticking up through the lawnmowings. He stared at themfor some time.Presently a fly settled on one of them and it moved.Mr.McGregor climbed down on to the rubbish heap--"One, two, three, four! five! six leetle rabbits!" said heas he droppedthem into his sack. The Flopsy Bunnies dreamt that their mother wasturning them over inbed. They stirred a little in their sleep, but stillthey did not wake up.[Illustration][Illustration]Mr.McGregor tied up the sack and left it on the wall.He went to put away the mowing machine.While he wasgone, Mrs. Flopsy Bunny (who had remained at home) cameacross the field.She looked suspiciously atthe sack and wondered where everybody was?[Illustration]Then the mouse came out of her jam pot, andBenjamin took the paper bagoff his head, and they told the doleful tale.Benjamin and Flopsy were indespair, they could not undo the string.But Mrs. Tittlemouse was a resourceful person. She nibbled a holein thebottom corner of the sack.[Illustration]The little rabbits were pulled out and pinched to wakethem.Their parents stuffed the empty sack with three rotten vegetable marrows,an old blacking-brushand two decayed turnips.[Illustration]Then they all hid under a bush and watched for Mr.McGregor.[Illustration]Mr. McGregor came back and picked up the sack, and carried it off.He carried it


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Immensee, by Theodore W. StormThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: ImmenseeAuthor: Theodore W. StormPosting Date: July 28, 2010 [EBook#6650]Release Date: October, 2004Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKIMMENSEE ***Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charles Franks, and the OnlineDistributed ProofreadingTeam.IMMENSEEBY THEODOR W. STORMTRANSLATED BY C. W. BELL M. A.PREFACEWe are at thebeginning of a new era which will, it is to be hoped, bemarked by a general _rapprochement_ betweenthe nations. The need toknow and understand one another is being felt more and more. It followsthat thestudy of foreign languages will assume an ever-increasingimportance; indeed, so far as language,literature, and music areconcerned, one may safely assert that _fas est et ab hoste doceri_.All those whowish to make acquaintance with the speech of theirneighbours, or who have allowed their formerknowledge to grow rusty,will welcome this edition, which will enable them, independently ofbulkydictionaries, to devote to language study the moments of leisurewhich offer themselves in the course ofthe day.The texts have been selected from the double point of view of theirliterary worth and of theusefulness of their vocabulary; in thetranslations, also, the endeavour has been to unite qualities ofstylewith strict fidelity to the original.INTRODUCTIONTheodor W. Storm, poet and short-story writer(1817-1888), was born inSchleswig. He was called to the Bar in his native town, Husum, in1842, but hadhis licence to practise cancelled in 1853 for'Germanophilism,' and had to remove to Germany. It was onlyin 1864that he was able to return to Husum, where in 1874 he became a judgeof the Court of Appeals.Asearly as 1843 he had made himself known as a lyrical poet of theRomantic School, but it was as ashort-story writer that he first tooka prominent place in literature, making a most happy _dÃ©but_withthe story entitled _Immensee_.There followed a long series of tales, rich in fancy and inhumour,although their inspiration is generally derived from the humble townand country life whichformed his immediate environment; but he wrotenothing that excels, in depth and tenderness of feeling,the charmingstory of _Immensee_; and taking his work all in all, Storm stillranks to-day as a master ofthe short story in German literature, richthough it is in this form of prose-fiction.IMMENSEETHE OLDMANOne afternoon in the late autumn a well-dressed old man was walkingslowly down the street. Heappeared to be returning home from a walk,for his buckle-shoes, which followed a fashion long since outof date,were covered with dust.Under his arm he carried a long, gold-headed cane; his dark eyes,inwhich the whole of his long-lost youth seemed to have centred, andwhich contrasted strangely with hissnow-white hair, gazed calmly onthe sights around him or peered into the town below as it lay beforehim,bathed in the haze of sunset. He appeared to be almost astranger, for of the passers-by only a fewgreeted him, although manya one involuntarily was compelled to gaze into those grave eyes.At last hehalted before a high, gabled house, cast one more glanceout toward the town, and then passed into thehall. At the sound ofthe door-bell some one in the room within drew aside the green curtainfrom a smallwindow that looked out on to the hall, and the face of anold woman was seen behind it. The man made asign to her with hiscane."No light yet!" he said in a slightly southern accent, and thehousekeeper let thecurtain fall again.The old man now passed through the broad hall, through an inner hall,wherein againstthe walls stood huge oaken chests bearing porcelainvases; then through the door opposite he entered asmall lobby, fromwhich a narrow staircase led to the upper rooms at the back of thehouse. He climbedthe stairs slowly, unlocked a door at the top, andlanded in a room of medium size.It was a comfortable,quiet retreat. One of the walls was lined withcupboards and bookcases; on the other hung pictures ofmen and places;on a table with a green cover lay a number of open books, and beforethe table stood amassive arm-chair with a red velvet cushion.After the old man had placed his hat and stick in a corner, hesat downin the arm-chair and, folding his hands, seemed to be taking his restafter his walk. While he satthus, it was growing gradually darker; andbefore long a moonbeam came streaming through thewindow-panes and uponthe pictures on the wall; and as the bright band of light passed slowlyonward the


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pellucidar, by Edgar Rice BurroughsThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: PellucidarAuthor: Edgar Rice BurroughsPosting Date: July 26, 2008 [EBook#605]Release Date: July, 1996[Last update: July 8, 2012]Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PELLUCIDAR ***Produced by Judith BossPELLUCIDARByEdgar RiceBurroughsCONTENTSCHAPTER       PROLOGUE    I  LOST ON PELLUCIDAR   II  TRAVELING WITHTERROR  III  SHOOTING THE CHUTES--AND AFTER   IV  FRIENDSHIP ANDTREACHERY    V  SURPRISES   VI  A PENDENT WORLD  VII  FROM PLIGHT TO PLIGHTVIII  CAPTIVE   IX  HOOJA'S CUTTHROATS APPEAR    X  THE RAID ON THECAVE-PRISON   XI  ESCAPE  XII  KIDNAPED! XIII  RACING FOR LIFE  XIV  GORE ANDDREAMS   XV  CONQUEST AND PEACEPROLOGUESeveral years had elapsed since I had found theopportunity to do anybig-game hunting; for at last I had my plans almost perfected for areturn to my oldstamping-grounds in northern Africa, where in otherdays I had had excellent sport in pursuit of the kingof beasts.The date of my departure had been set; I was to leave in two weeks.  Noschoolboy counting thelagging hours that must pass before thebeginning of "long vacation" released him to the delirious joys ofthesummer camp could have been filled with greater impatience or keeneranticipation.And then came aletter that started me for Africa twelve days ahead ofmy schedule.Often am I in receipt of letters fromstrangers who have foundsomething in a story of mine to commend or to condemn.  My interest inthisdepartment of my correspondence is ever fresh.  I opened thisparticular letter with all the zest ofpleasurable anticipation withwhich I had opened so many others.  The post-mark (Algiers) hadarousedmy interest and curiosity, especially at this time, since it wasAlgiers that was presently to witnessthe termination of my coming seavoyage in search of sport and adventure.Before the reading of thatletter was completed lions and lion-huntinghad fled my thoughts, and I was in a state of excitementbordering uponfrenzy.It--well, read it yourself, and see if you, too, do not find food forfrantic conjecture,for tantalizing doubts, and for a great hope.Here it is:DEAR SIR: I think that I have run across one of themost remarkablecoincidences in modern literature.  But let me start at the beginning:I am, by profession,a wanderer upon the face of the earth.  I have notrade--nor any other occupation.My father bequeathedme a competency; some remoter ancestors lust toroam.  I have combined the two and invested themcarefully and withoutextravagance.I became interested in your story, At the Earth's Core, not somuchbecause of the probability of the tale as of a great and abiding wonderthat people should be paidreal money for writing such impossibletrash.  You will pardon my candor, but it is necessary thatyouunderstand my mental attitude toward this particular story--that youmay credit that whichfollows.Shortly thereafter I started for the Sahara in search of a rather rarespecies of antelope that is tobe found only occasionally within alimited area at a certain season of the year.  My chase led me farfromthe haunts of man.It was a fruitless search, however, in so far as antelope is concerned;but onenight as I lay courting sleep at the edge of a little clusterof date-palms that surround an ancient well inthe midst of the arid,shifting sands, I suddenly became conscious of a strange sound comingapparentlyfrom the earth beneath my head.It was an intermittent ticking!No reptile or insect with which I amfamiliar reproduces any suchnotes.  I lay for an hour--listening intently.At last my curiosity got the betterof me.  I arose, lighted my lampand commenced to investigate.My bedding lay upon a rug stretcheddirectly upon the warm sand.  Thenoise appeared to be coming from beneath the rug.  I raised it,butfound nothing--yet, at intervals, the sound continued.I dug into the sand with the point of myhunting-knife.  A few inchesbelow the surface of the sand I encountered a solid substance that hadthefeel of wood beneath the sharp steel.Excavating about it, I unearthed a small wooden box.  Fromthisreceptacle issued the strange sound that I had heard.How had it come here?What did it contain?Inattempting to lift it from its burying place I discovered that itseemed to be held fast by means of a verysmall insulated cable runningfarther into the sand beneath it.My first impulse was to drag the thing loose


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great Shadow and Other Napoleonic Talesby Arthur ConanDoyleThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg Licenseincludedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The Great Shadow and Other NapoleonicTalesAuthor: Arthur Conan DoyleRelease Date: March 22, 2004 [EBook #11656]Language: English***START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT SHADOW ***Produced by Lionel G. SearTHEGREAT SHADOW AND OTHER NAPOLEONIC TALESA. CONAN DOYLECONTENTSTHE GREATSHADOW  I.    THE NIGHT OF THE BEACONS  II.   COUSIN EDIE OF EYEMOUTH  III.  THE SHADOW ONTHE WATERS  IV.   THE CHOOSING OF JIM  V.    THE MAN FROM THE SEA  VI.   A WANDERINGEAGLE  VII.  THE SHADOW ON THE LAND  VIII. THE COMING OF THE CUTTER  IX.   THE DOINGS ATWEST INCH  X.    THE RETURN OF THE SHADOW  XI.   THE GATHERING OF THE NATIONS  XII.  THESHADOW ON THE LAND  XIII. THE END OF THE STORM  XIV.  THE TALLY OF DEATH  XV.   THE END OFITTHE CRIME OF THE BRIGADIERTHE "SLAPPING SAL"THE GREAT SHADOW.CHAPTER I.THE NIGHT OFTHE BEACONS.It is strange to me, Jock Calder of West Inch, to feel that though now,in the very centre ofthe nineteenth century, I am but five-and-fiftyyears of age, and though it is only once in a week perhapsthat my wifecan pluck out a little grey bristle from over my ear, yet I have livedin a time when thethoughts and the ways of men were as different asthough it were another planet from this.  For when Iwalk in my fields Ican see, down Berwick way, the little fluffs of white smoke which tellme of this strangenew hundred-legged beast, with coals for food and athousand men in its belly, for ever crawling over theborder.On a shiny day I can see the glint of the brass work as it takes thecurve near Corriemuir; andthen, as I look out to sea, there is the samebeast again, or a dozen of them maybe, leaving a trail ofblack in theair and of white in the water, and swimming in the face of the wind aseasily as a salmon upthe Tweed.  Such a sight as that would have struckmy good old father speechless with wrath as well assurprise; for he wasso stricken with the fear of offending the Creator that he was chary ofcontradictingNature, and always held the new thing to be nearly akin tothe blasphemous.  As long as God made thehorse, and a man downBirmingham way the engine, my good old dad would have stuck by thesaddle andthe spurs.But he would have been still more surprised had he seen the peace andkindliness which reignsnow in the hearts of men, and the talk in thepapers and at the meetings that there is to be no morewar--save, ofcourse, with blacks and such like.  For when he died we had beenfighting with scarce abreak, save only during two short years, for verynearly a quarter of a century.  Think of it, you who liveso quietly andpeacefully now!  Babies who were born in the war grew to be bearded menwith babies oftheir own, and still the war continued.  Those who hadserved and fought in their stalwart prime grew stiffand bent, and yetthe ships and the armies were struggling.  It was no wonder that folkcame at last tolook upon it as the natural state, and thought how queerit must seem to be at peace.  During that longtime we fought the Dutch,we fought the Danes, we fought the Spanish, we fought the Turks, wefoughtthe Americans, we fought the Monte-Videans, until it seemed thatin this universal struggle no race wastoo near of kin, or too far away,to be drawn into the quarrel.  But most of all it was the French whomwefought, and the man whom of all others we loathed and feared and admiredwas the great Captain whoruled them.It was very well to draw pictures of him, and sing songs about him, andmake as though hewere an impostor; but I can tell you that the fear ofthat man hung like a black shadow over all Europe,and that there was atime when the glint of a fire at night upon the coast would set everywoman upon herknees and every man gripping for his musket.  He hadalways won: that was the terror of it.  The Fatesseemed to be behindhim.  And now we knew that he lay upon the northern coast with a hundredand fiftythousand veterans, and the boats for their passage.  But it isan old story, how a third of the grown folk ofour country took up arms,and how our little one-eyed, one-armed man crushed their fleet.There was stillto be a land of free thinking and free speaking inEurope.There was a great beacon ready on the hill byTweedmouth, built up oflogs and tar-barrels; and I can well remember how, night after night, Istrainedmy eyes to see if it were ablaze.  I was only eight at thetime, but it is an age when one takes a grief to


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gods are Athirst, by Anatole FranceThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Gods are AthirstAuthor: Anatole FranceTranslator: Mrs. WilfridJacksonRelease Date: December 24, 2007 [EBook #24010]Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GODS ARE ATHIRST ***Produced by R. Cedron, Camille FranÃ§ois,Henry Craig andthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was producedfrom imagesgenerously made available by The Internet Archive)THE WORKS OF ANATOLE FRANCEIN ANENGLISH TRANSLATIONEDITED BY FREDERIC CHAPMANTHE GODS ARE ATHIRST[Illustration]THE GODSAREATHIRSTBY ANATOLE FRANCEA TRANSLATION BYMRS. WILFRID JACKSON[Illustration]NEW YORK:JOHN LANE COMPANYLONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEADTORONTO: BELL & COCKBURNMCMXIVCopyright, 1913 byJOHN LANE COMPANYTHE GODS ARE ATHIRSTIÃvariste Gamelin, painter,pupil of David, member of the Section duPont-Neuf, formerly Section Henri IV, had betaken himself at anearlyhour in the morning to the old church of the Barnabites, which for threeyears, since 21st May 1790,had served as meeting-place for the GeneralAssembly of the Section. The church stood in a narrow,gloomy square,not far from the gates of the Palais de Justice. On the faÃ§ade, whichconsisted of two ofthe Classical orders superimposed and was decoratedwith inverted brackets and flaming urns, blackenedby the weather anddisfigured by the hand of man, the religious emblems had been batteredto pieces,while above the doorway had been inscribed in black lettersthe Republican catchword of "Liberty,Equality, Fraternity or Death."Ãvariste Gamelin made his way into the nave; the same vaults whichhadheard the surpliced clerks of the Congregation of St. Paul sing thedivine offices, now looked down onred-capped patriots assembled toelect the Municipal magistrates and deliberate on the affairs oftheSection. The Saints had been dragged from their niches and replaced bythe busts of Brutus,Jean-Jacques and Le Peltier. The altar had beenstripped bare and was surmounted by the Table of theRights of Man.It was here in the nave that twice a week, from five in the evening toeleven, were held thepublic assemblies. The pulpit, decorated with thecolours of the Nation, served as tribune for the speakerswho haranguedthe meeting. Opposite, on the Epistle side, rose a platform of roughplanks, for theaccommodation of the women and children, who attendedthese gatherings in considerable numbers.Onthis particular morning, facing a desk planted underneath the pulpit,sat in red cap and _carmagnole_complete the joiner from the PlaceThionville, the _citoyen_ Dupont senior, one of the twelve formingtheCommittee of Surveillance. On the desk stood a bottle and glasses, anink-horn, and a folio containingthe text of the petition urging theConvention to expel from its bosom the twenty-two membersdeemedunworthy.Ãvariste Gamelin took the pen and signed."I was sure," said the carpenter andmagistrate, "I was sure you wouldcome and give in your name, _citoyen_ Gamelin. You are the realthing.But the Section is lukewarm; it is lacking in virtue. I have proposed tothe Committee of Surveillanceto deliver no certificate of citizenshipto any one who has failed to sign the petition.""I am ready to signwith my blood," said Gamelin, "for the proscriptionof these federalists, these traitors. They have desiredthe death ofMarat: let them perish.""What ruins us," replied Dupont senior, "is indifferentism. In aSectionwhich contains nine hundred citizens with the right to vote there arenot fifty attend the assembly.Yesterday we were eight and twenty.""Well then," said Gamelin, "citizens must be obliged to comeunderpenalty of a fine.""Oh, ho!" exclaimed the joiner frowning, "but if they all came, thepatriots wouldbe in a minority.... _Citoyen_ Gamelin, will you drink aglass of wine to the health of all goodsansculottes?..."On the wall of the church, on the Gospel side, could be read the words,accompanied by ablack hand, the forefinger pointing to the passageleading to the cloisters: "_ComitÃ© civil, ComitÃ© desurveillance, ComitÃ©de bienfaisance._" A few yards further on, you came to the door of theerstwhilesacristy, over which was inscribed: _ComitÃ© militaire_.Gamelin pushed this door open and found theSecretary of the Committeewithin; he was writing at a large table loaded with books, papers, steelingots,cartridges and samples of saltpetre-bearing soils."Greeting, _citoyen_ Trubert. How are you?""I?... I am


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Crystal Age, by W. H. HudsonThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: A Crystal AgeAuthor: W. H. HudsonPosting Date: March 24, 2014 [EBook#7401]Release Date: February, 2005First Posted: April 24, 2003Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CRYSTAL AGE ***Produced by Eric Eldred, David Garcia and theOnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.A CRYSTAL AGEBY W. H. HUDSONPREFACE_Romances of thefuture, however fantastic they may be, have for mostof us a perennial if mild interest, since they are bornof a very commonfeeling--a sense of dissatisfaction with the existing order of things,combined with avague faith in or hope of a better one to come. Thepicture put before us is false; we knew it would befalse before lookingat it, since we cannot imagine what is unknown any more than we canbuild withoutmaterials. Our mental atmosphere surrounds and shuts us inlike our own skins; no one can boast that hehas broken out of thatprison. The vast, unbounded prospect lies before us, but, as the poetmournfullyadds, "clouds and darkness rest upon it." Nevertheless wecannot suppress all curiosity, or help askingone another, What is yourdream--your ideal? What is your News from Nowhere, or, rather, what istheresult of the little shake your hand has given to the old pasteboardtoy with a dozen bits of colored glassfor contents? And, most importantof all, can you present it in a narrative or romance which will enablemeto pass an idle hour not disagreeably? How, for instance, does itcompare in this respect with otherprophetic books on the shelf?__I am not referring to living authors; least of all to that flamingo ofletterswho for the last decade or so has been a wonder to our islandbirds. For what could I say of him that is notknown to every one--thathe is the tallest of fowls, land or water, of a most singular shape, andhasblack-tipped crimson wings folded under his delicate rose-coloredplumage? These other books referredto, written, let us say, from thirtyor forty years to a century or two ago, amuse us in a way theirpoordead authors never intended. Most amusing are the dead ones who takethemselves seriously, whosebooks are pulpits quaintly carved anddecorated with precious stones and silken canopies in which theystandand preach to or at their contemporaries.__In like manner, in going through this book of mine afterso many years Iam amused at the way it is colored by the little cults and crazes, andmodes of thought ofthe 'eighties of the last century. They were soimportant then, and now, if remembered at all, they appearso trivial!It pleases me to be diverted in this way at "A Crystal Age"--to find, infact, that I have not stoodstill while the world has been moving.__This criticism refers to the case, the habit, of the book ratherthanto its spirit, since when we write we do, as the red man thought, impartsomething of our souls to thepaper, and it is probable that if I wereto write a new dream of the future it would, though in somerespectsvery different from this, still be a dream and picture of the human racein its forest period.__Alasthat in this case the wish cannot induce belief! For now I rememberanother thing which Nature said--thatearthly excellence can come in noway but one, and the ending of passion and strife is the beginningofdecay. It is indeed a hard saying, and the hardest lesson we can learnof her without losing love andbidding good-by forever to hope._W. H. H.A CRYSTAL AGEChapter 1I do not quite know how it happened,my recollection of the whole matterebbing in a somewhat clouded condition. I fancy I had gonesomewhere ona botanizing expedition, but whether at home or abroad I don't know. Atall events, Iremember that I had taken up the study of plants with agood deal of enthusiasm, and that while huntingfor some variety in themountains I sat down to rest on the edge of a ravine. Perhaps it was onthe ledgeof an overhanging rock; anyhow, if I remember rightly, theground gave way all about me, precipitatingme below. The fall was avery considerable one--probably thirty or forty feet, or more, and I wasrenderedunconscious. How long I lay there under the heap of earth andstones carried down in my fall it isimpossible to say: perhaps a longtime; but at last I came to myself and struggled up from the_debris_,like a mole coming to the surface of the earth to feelthe genial sunshine on his dim eyeballs. I foundmyself standing (oddlyenough, on all fours) in an immense pit created by the overthrow of agigantic deadtree with a girth of about thirty or forty feet. The treeitself had rolled down to the bottom of the ravine;


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Time Traders, by Andre NortonThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Time TradersAuthor: Andre NortonRelease Date: August 29, 2006 [EBook#19145]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIME TRADERS***Produced by Greg Weeks, Irma Spehar and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.netTHE TIME TRADERSBY ANDRE NORTON_Science Fiction_THE STARS AREOURS!STAR BORNTHE TIME TRADERS_Historical Fiction_YANKEE PRIVATEER_Edited by AndreNorton_BULLARD OF THE SPACE PATROLSPACE SERVICESPACE PIONEERSSPACE POLICE_AndreNorton_THE TIMETRADERSCLEVELAND AND NEW YORKTHE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY_Publishedby_ The World Publishing Company 2231 West 110th Street,Cleveland 2, Ohio_Published simultaneouslyin Canada by_ Nelson, Foster & Scott Ltd._Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 58-11154_SECONDPRINTING2WP759Copyright (c) 1958 by The World Publishing Company All rights reserved. Nopart of thisbook may be reproduced in any form without writtenpermission from the publisher, except for briefpassages included in areview appearing in a newspaper or magazine. Printed in the UnitedStates ofAmerica.Transcriber's note:Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright onthispublication was renewed.THE TIME TRADERSCHAPTER 1To anyone who glanced casually inside thedetention room the young mansitting there did not seem very formidable. In height he might have beenalittle above average, but not enough to make him noticeable. His brownhair was cropped conservatively;his unlined boy's face was not one tobe remembered--unless one was observant enough to note thoselight-grayeyes and catch a chilling, measuring expression showing now and then foran instant in theirdepths.Neatly and inconspicuously dressed, in this last quarter of thetwentieth century his like was to befound on any street of the city tenfloors below--to all outward appearances. But that other personunderthe protective coloring so assiduously cultivated could touch heights ofencased and controlled furywhich Murdock himself did not understand andwas only just learning to use as a weapon against a worldhe had alwaysfound hostile.He was aware, though he gave no sign of it, that a guard was watchinghim.The cop on duty was an old hand--he probably expected some reactionother than passive acceptancefrom the prisoner. But he was not goingto get it. The law had Ross sewed up tight this time. Why didn'ttheyget about the business of shipping him off? Why had he had thatafternoon session with the skullthumper? Ross had been on the defensivethen, and he had not liked it. He had given to the other'squestions allthe attention his shrewd mind could muster, but a faint, very faint,apprehension still clung tothe memory of that meeting.The door of the detention room opened. Ross did not turn his head, buttheguard cleared his throat as if their hour of mutual silence haddried his vocal cords. "On your feet,Murdock! The judge wants to seeyou."Ross rose smoothly, with every muscle under fluid control. It neverpaidto talk back, to allow any sign of defiance to show. He would go throughthe motions as if he were abad little boy who had realized his errors.It was a meek-and-mild act that had paid off more than once inRoss'scheckered past. So he faced the man seated behind the desk in the otherroom with an uncertain,diffident smile, standing with boyishawkwardness, respectfully waiting for the other to speak first.JudgeOrd Rawle. It was his rotten luck to pull old Eagle Beak on hiscase. Well, he would simply have to take itwhen the old boy dished itout. Not that he had to remain stuck with it later...."You have a bad record,young man."Ross allowed his smile to fade; his shoulders slumped. But underconcealing lids his eyesshowed an instant of cold defiance."Yes, sir," he agreed in a voice carefully cultivated toshakeconvincingly about the edges. Then suddenly all Ross's pleasure in theskill of his act was wipedaway. Judge Rawle was not alone; that blastedskull thumper was sitting there, watching the prisoner withthe samekeenness he had shown the other day."A very bad record for the few years you have had tomake it." EagleBeak was staring at him, too, but without the same look of penetration,luckily for Ross."By rights, you should be turned over to the newRehabilitation Service...."Ross froze inside. That was the"treatment," icy rumors of which hadspread throughout his particular world. For the second time since he


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, Mary Barton, by Elizabeth Cleghorn GaskellThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Mary Barton       A Tale of Manchester LifeAuthor: Elizabeth CleghornGaskellRelease Date: August 10, 1999  [eBook #2153]This revision released December 9,2013Language: English***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY BARTON***E-textprepared by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset,and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.Editorialnote:      _Mary Barton_, Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell's first novel,      was published (anonymously) in1848 by Chapman and Hall.MARY BARTONA Tale of Manchester LifebyELIZABETH GASKELL   "'Howknowest thou,' may the distressed Novel-wright exclaim,   'that I, here where I sit, am the Foolishest ofexisting   mortals; that this my Long-ear of a fictitious Biography shall   not find one and the other, intowhose still longer ears it   may be the means, under Providence, of instilling somewhat?'   We answer,'None knows, none can certainly know: therefore,   write on, worthy Brother, even as thou canst, even asit is   given thee.'"      CARLYLE.CONTENTS            PREFACE.         I. A MYSTERIOUSDISAPPEARANCE.        II. A MANCHESTER TEA-PARTY.       III. JOHN BARTON'S GREATTROUBLE.        IV. OLD ALICE'S HISTORY.         V. THE MILL ON FIRE--JEM WILSON TO THERESCUE.        VI. POVERTY AND DEATH.       VII. JEM WILSON'S REPULSE.      VIII. MARGARET'S DEBUTAS A PUBLIC SINGER.        IX. BARTON'S LONDON EXPERIENCES.         X. RETURN OF THEPRODIGAL.    XI. MR. CARSON'S INTENTIONS REVEALED.       XII. OLD ALICE'S BAIRN.      XIII. ATRAVELLER'S TALES.       XIV. JEM'S INTERVIEW WITH POOR ESTHER.        XV. A VIOLENT MEETINGBETWEEN THE RIVALS.       XVI. MEETING BETWEEN MASTERS AND WORKMEN.      XVII. BARTON'SNIGHT-ERRAND.     XVIII. MURDER.       XIX. JEM WILSON ARRESTED ON SUSPICION.        XX. MARY'SDREAM--AND THE AWAKENING.       XXI. ESTHER'S MOTIVE IN SEEKING MARY.      XXII. MARY'SEFFORTS TO PROVE AN ALIBI.     XXIII. THE SUB-POENA.      XXIV. WITH THE DYING.       XXV. MRS.WILSON'S DETERMINATION.      XXVI. THE JOURNEY TO LIVERPOOL.     XXVII. IN THE LIVERPOOLDOCKS.    XXVIII. "JOHN CROPPER, AHOY!"      XXIX. A TRUE BILL AGAINST JEM.       XXX. JOB LEGH'SDECEPTION.      XXXI. HOW MARY PASSED THE NIGHT.     XXXII. THE TRIAL AND VERDICT--"NOTGUILTY."    XXXIII. REQUIESCAT IN PACE.     XXXIV. THE RETURN HOME.      XXXV. "FORGIVE US OURTRESPASSES."     XXXVI. JEM'S INTERVIEW WITH MR. DUNCOMBE.    XXXVII. DETAILS CONNECTEDWITH THE MURDER.   XXXVIII. CONCLUSION.PREFACE.Three years ago I became anxious (fromcircumstances that need not bemore fully alluded to) to employ myself in writing a work of fiction.Livingin Manchester, but with a deep relish and fond admiration forthe country, my first thought was to find aframe-work for my storyin some rural scene; and I had already made a little progress in atale, the periodof which was more than a century ago, and the placeon the borders of Yorkshire, when I bethought mehow deep might bethe romance in the lives of some of those who elbowed me daily in thebusy streets ofthe town in which I resided. I had always felt a deepsympathy with the care-worn men, who looked as ifdoomed to strugglethrough their lives in strange alternations between work and want;tossed to and froby circumstances, apparently in even a greaterdegree than other men. A little manifestation of thissympathy, anda little attention to the expression of feelings on the part of someof the work-people withwhom I was acquainted, had laid open to methe hearts of one or two of the more thoughtful amongthem; I sawthat they were sore and irritable against the rich, the even tenorof whose seemingly happylives appeared to increase the anguishcaused by the lottery-like nature of their own. Whether thebittercomplaints made by them, of the neglect which they experienced fromthe prosperous--especiallyfrom the masters whose fortunes they hadhelped to build up--were well-founded or no, it is not for metojudge. It is enough to say, that this belief of the injustice andunkindness which they endure from theirfellow-creatures, taints whatmight be resignation to God's will, and turns it to revenge in toomany of thepoor uneducated factory-workers of Manchester.The more I reflected on this unhappy state of thingsbetween thoseso bound to each other by common interests, as the employers andthe employed must


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Savrola, by Winston Spencer ChurchillThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost norestrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe ProjectGutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in theUnited States, you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using thisebook.Title: Savrola       A Tale of the Revolution in LauraniaAuthor: Winston Spencer ChurchillReleaseDate: January 24, 2016 [EBook #50906]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERGEBOOK SAVROLA ***Produced by Al Haines  SAVROLA  A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION INLAURANIA  BY  WINSTON SPENCER CHURCHILL  AUTHOR OF "THE RIVER WAR: AN ACCOUNT OF THERECOVERY  OF THE SOUDAN" AND "THE STORY OF THE MALAKAND  FIELD FORCE"  LONGMANS, GREEN,AND CO.  91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK  LONDON AND BOMBAY  1900  COPYRIGHT, 1899,BY  LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  TYPOGRAPHY BY J. B. CUSHING & CO.,NORWOOD, MASS.  THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED  TO  THE OFFICERS  OF THE  IVTH (QUEEN'S OWN)HUSSARS  IN WHOSE COMPANY THE AUTHOR LIVED  FOR FOUR HAPPY YEARSPREFATORY NOTEThisstory was written in 1897, and has already appeared in serial formin _Macmillan's Magazine_.  Since itsfirst reception was notunfriendly, I resolved to publish it as a book, and I now submit itwith considerabletrepidation to the judgment or clemency of the public.WINSTON S. CHURCHILL.  CONTENTS  I.  An Eventof Political Importance  II.  The Head of the State  III.  The Man of the Multitude  IV.  TheDeputation  V.  A Private Conversation  VI.  On Constitutional Grounds  VII.  The State Ball  VIII.  "In theStarlight"  IX.  The Admiral  X.  The Wand of the Magician  XI.  In the Watches of the Night  XII.  ACouncil of War  XIII.  The Action of the Executive  XIV.  The Loyalty of theArmy  XV.  Surprises  XVI.  The Progress of the Revolt  XVII.  The Defence of the Palace  XVIII.  From aWindow  XIX.  An Educational Experience  XX.  The End of the Quarrel  XXI.  The Return of theFleet  XXII.  Life's CompensationsCHAPTER I.AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE.There had been aheavy shower of rain, but the sun was already shiningthrough the breaks in the clouds and throwingswiftly changing shadowson the streets, the houses, and the gardens of the city of Laurania.Everythingshone wetly in the sunlight: the dust had been laid; the airwas cool; the trees looked green andgrateful.  It was the first rainafter the summer heats, and it marked the beginning of thatdelightfulautumn climate which has made the Lauranian capital the home of theartist, the invalid, and thesybarite.The shower had been heavy, but it had not dispersed the crowds thatwere gathered in the greatsquare in front of the Parliament House.  Itwas welcome, but it had not altered their anxious and angrylooks; ithad drenched them without cooling their excitement.  Evidently an eventof consequence wastaking place.  The fine building, where therepresentatives of the people were wont to meet, wore anaspect ofsombre importance that the trophies and statues, with which an ancientand an art-loving peoplehad decorated its faÃ§ade, did not dispel.  Asquadron of Lancers of the Republican Guard was drawn upat the foot ofthe great steps, and a considerable body of infantry kept a broad spaceclear in front of theentrance.  Behind the soldiers the people filledin the rest of the picture.  They swarmed in the square andthe streetsleading to it; they had scrambled on to the numerous monuments, whichthe taste and pride ofthe Republic had raised to the memory of herancient heroes, covering them so completely that theylooked likemounds of human beings; even the trees contained their occupants, whilethe windows andoften the roofs, of the houses and offices whichoverlooked the scene were crowded with spectators.  Itwas a greatmultitude and it vibrated with excitement.  Wild passions surged acrossthe throng, as squallssweep across a stormy sea.  Here and there aman, mounting above his fellows, would harangue thosewhom his voicecould reach, and a cheer or a shout was caught up by thousands who hadnever heard thewords but were searching for something to giveexpression to their feelings.It was a great day in thehistory of Laurania.  For five long yearssince the Civil War the people had endured the insult ofautocraticrule.  The fact that the Government was strong, and the memory of thedisorders of the past,had operated powerfully on the minds of the moresober citizens.  But from the first there had been


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg Etext of Barchester Towers by AnthonyTrollope*******************************************************************THIS EBOOKWAS ONE OF PROJECT GUTENBERG'S EARLY FILES PRODUCED AT ATIME WHEN PROOFING METHODSAND TOOLS WERE NOT WELL DEVELOPED. THEREIS AN IMPROVED EDITION OF THIS TITLE WHICH MAYBE VIEWED AS EBOOK(#3409) at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3409*******************************************************************Copyright laws are changing all over the world, besure to checkthe copyright laws for your country before posting these files!!Please take a look at theimportant information in this header.We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keepinganelectronic path open for the next readers.  Do not remove this.**Welcome To The World of Free PlainVanilla Electronic Texts****Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971***TheseEtexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*Information on contacting Project Gutenbergto get Etexts, andfurther information is included below.  We need your donations.Barchester TowersbyAnthony TrollopeDecember, 2000  [Etext #2432]The Project Gutenberg Etext of Barchester Towers, byAnthony Trollope******This file should be named 2432.txt or 2432.zip*****Etext typed by KENNETHDAVID COOPER <cooper.kd@bigpond.com>Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multipleeditions,all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless acopyright notice isincluded.  Therefore, we usually do NOT keep anyof these books in compliance with any particular paperedition.We are now trying to release all our books one month in advanceof the official release dates,leaving time for better editing.Please note:  neither this list nor its contents are final tillmidnight of thelast day of the month of any such announcement.The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etextsis atMidnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  Apreliminary version may often beposted for suggestion, commentand editing by those who wish to do so.  To be sure you have anup todate first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizesin the first week of the next month.  Since our ftpprogram hasa bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] alook at the file size will have todo, but we will try to see anew copy has at least one byte more or less.Information about ProjectGutenberg (one page)We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  Thetime it takes us, arather conservative estimate, is fifty hoursto get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited,copyrightsearched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.  Thisprojected audience is onehundred million readers.  If our valueper text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce$2million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-six textfiles per month, or 432 more Etexts in1999 for a total of 2000+If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then thetotal shouldreach over 200 billion Etexts given away this year.The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away OneTrillion EtextFiles by December 31, 2001.  [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion]This is ten thousand titleseach to one hundred million readers,which is only ~5% of the present number of computer users.At ourrevised rates of production, we will reach only one-thirdof that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333Etexts unless wemanage to get some real funding; currently our funding is mostlyfrom Michael Hart'ssalary at Carnegie-Mellon University, and anassortment of sporadic gifts; this salary is only good for afewmore years, so we are looking for something to replace it, as wedon't want Project Gutenberg to be sodependent on one person.We need your donations more than ever!All donations should be made to"Project Gutenberg/CMU": and aretax deductible to the extent allowable by law.  (CMU = Carnegie-MellonUniversity).For these and other matters, please mail to:Project GutenbergP. O. Box  2782Champaign, IL61825When all other email fails. . .try our Executive Director:Michael S. Hart<hart@pobox.com>hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.orgif your mailbounces from archive.org, I will still see it, ifit bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . .Wewould prefer to send you this information by email.******To access Project Gutenberg etexts, use anyWeb browserto view http://promo.net/pg.  This site lists Etexts byauthor and by title, and includesinformation about howto get involved with Project Gutenberg.  You could alsodownload our pastNewsletters, or subscribe here.  Thisis one of our major sites, please email hart@pobox.com,for a more


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rilla of Ingleside, by Lucy Maud MontgomeryThis eBook is for the useof anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: Rilla of InglesideAuthor: Lucy Maud MontgomeryPosting Date: May 19, 2009[EBook #3796]Release Date: February, 2003First Posted: September 12, 2001[Last updated: June 17,2012]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILLA OF INGLESIDE***Produced by Sheila Perkins.  HTML version by Al HainesRilla of InglesidebyLucy MaudMontgomeryCONTENTS       I  GLEN "NOTES" AND OTHER MATTERS      II  DEW OFMORNING     III  MOONLIT MIRTH      IV  THE PIPER PIPES       V  "THE SOUND OF AGOING"      VI  SUSAN, RILLA, AND DOG MONDAY MAKE A RESOLUTION     VII  A WAR-BABY AND ASOUP TUREEN    VIII  RILLA DECIDES      IX  DOC HAS A MISADVENTURE       X  THE TROUBLES OFRILLA      XI  DARK AND BRIGHT     XII  IN THE DAYS OF LANGEMARCK    XIII  A SLICE OF HUMBLEPIE     XIV  THE VALLEY OF DECISION      XV  UNTIL THE DAY BREAK     XVI  REALISM ANDROMANCE    XVII  THE WEEKS WEAR BY   XVIII  A WAR-WEDDING     XIX  "THEY SHALL NOTPASS"      XX  NORMAN DOUGLAS SPEAKS OUT IN MEETING     XXI  "LOVE AFFAIRS AREHORRIBLE"    XXII  LITTLE DOG MONDAY KNOWS   XXIII  "AND SO, GOODNIGHT"    XXIV  MARY IS JUSTIN TIME     XXV  SHIRLEY GOES    XXVI  SUSAN HAS A PROPOSAL OFMARRIAGE   XXVII  WAITING  XXVIII  BLACK SUNDAY    XXIX  "WOUNDED AND MISSING"     XXX  THETURNING OF THE TIDE    XXXI  MRS. MATILDA PITTMAN   XXXII  WORD FROMJEM  XXXIII  VICTORY!   XXXIV  MR. HYDE GOES TO HIS OWN PLACE AND SUSAN TAKES AHONEYMOON    XXXV  "RILLA-MY-RILLA!"CHAPTER IGLEN "NOTES" AND OTHER MATTERSIt was a warm,golden-cloudy, lovable afternoon. In the big living-roomat Ingleside Susan Baker sat down with a certaingrim satisfactionhovering about her like an aura; it was four o'clock and Susan, who hadbeen workingincessantly since six that morning, felt that she hadfairly earned an hour of repose and gossip. Susan justthen wasperfectly happy; everything had gone almost uncannily well in thekitchen that day. Dr. Jekyllhad not been Mr. Hyde and so had notgrated on her nerves; from where she sat she could see the prideof herheart--the bed of peonies of her own planting and culture, blooming asno other peony plot in GlenSt. Mary ever did or could bloom, withpeonies crimson, peonies silvery pink, peonies white as driftsofwinter snow.Susan had on a new black silk blouse, quite as elaborate as anythingMrs. Marshall Elliottever wore, and a white starched apron, trimmedwith complicated crocheted lace fully five inches wide,not to mentioninsertion to match. Therefore Susan had all the comfortableconsciousness of awell-dressed woman as she opened her copy of theDaily Enterprise and prepared to read the Glen"Notes" which, as MissCornelia had just informed her, filled half a column of it andmentioned almosteverybody at Ingleside. There was a big, blackheadline on the front page of the Enterprise, stating thatsomeArchduke Ferdinand or other had been assassinated at a place bearingthe weird name of Sarajevo,but Susan tarried not over uninteresting,immaterial stuff like that; she was in quest of something reallyvital.Oh, here it was--"Jottings from Glen St. Mary." Susan settled downkeenly, reading each one overaloud to extract all possiblegratification from it.Mrs. Blythe and her visitor, Miss Cornelia--alias Mrs.MarshallElliott--were chatting together near the open door that led to theveranda, through which a cool,delicious breeze was blowing, bringingwhiffs of phantom perfume from the garden, and charming gayechoes fromthe vine-hung corner where Rilla and Miss Oliver and Walter werelaughing and talking.Wherever Rilla Blythe was, there was laughter.There was another occupant of the living-room, curled upon a couch,who must not be overlooked, since he was a creature of markedindividuality, and, moreover,had the distinction of being the onlyliving thing whom Susan really hated.All cats are mysterious but Dr.Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde--"Doc" forshort--was trebly so. He was a cat of double personality--or else, asSusanvowed, he was possessed by the devil. To begin with, there hadbeen something uncanny about the verydawn of his existence. Four yearspreviously Rilla Blythe had had a treasured darling of a kitten, whiteassnow, with a saucy black tip to its tail, which she called JackFrost. Susan disliked Jack Frost, though she