“Dear me, an exceedingly unfortunate matter,” exclaimed Hezekiah, as if astonished at the revelation. Therein his manner partook of deceit, as Hennie had favored him so often with the details of the matter, gathered from Virginia herself and more completely, through Carrie, from Serena, that he knew them by heart. The lawyer went on, “The adjustment of such family differences requires tact–the utmost tact and diplomacy.”

The happenings of the morning had sorely inflamed Obadiah’s indigestion. As he repeated his woes to the attorney, remembrances of the lonely hours he had spent since the girl’s departure came to him and he believed himself a sadly ill-used man. Miserable in body and spirit, he flamed into tempestuous rebellion at the mild measures proposed by his legal adviser.

“Tact and diplomacy the devil!!” he exploded. “I’ll use force, if necessary. She is my daughter, isn’t she?”

Hezekiah gravely conceded Obadiah’s claim of paternity.

“The law gives me some control of her?”

“As an unmarried woman, you have certain rights over her,” Hezekiah admitted.

“Well then, I want her back,” bellowed Obadiah, the notes of his voice getting higher as the intensity of his feeling increased. “You go and get her and make her come home.”

“Did you have in mind legal proceedings to compel your daughter to return under your roof?” inquired Hezekiah in a suave manner, in marked contrast to the bluster of his employer.

“It doesn’t make any difference how you do it. Kidnap her for all I care. What I want is to get her back,” the mill owner stormed.

“Has it occurred to you, that in such matters care must be taken to avoid a serious rupture of those affectionate relations which, after all, are the basis of the home and the natural tie between a father and daughter?” Hezekiah suggested quietly.

Obadiah’s face was swollen with passion, his obstinacy written deep in it. “She must come home,” he proclaimed. “I want her. I’m tired of living alone. You go and make her come back.”

The smooth shaven countenance of the lawyer hardened. His usual good-humored expression melted into one of resolution as he said with great calmness, “I have thought, sometimes, Obadiah, that you fail to display a clear conception of an attorney’s duties.”

“What?”

“You don’t appreciate the scope of my employment.”

“What has that got to do with my daughter?”

“It has this. I do not conceive it my duty to force your daughter to return to your home against her wishes.”

“You refuse to obey my instructions?” Obadiah almost screamed, throwing discretion to the winds in the tumult of his wrath.

“Yes, I refuse,” answered the lawyer, leaping to his feet and talking down at his employer. “I refuse,” he repeated in a voice in which passion found no place, “as I have always refused when you would have seduced me into doing an unjust act. There are questions upon which fair minds may differ. Men of honor may argue for the side in which they believe or have been retained. From divers contentions, strongly maintained, comes the bright star of right, shining clear, in its purity, above the storm clouds of litigation. But, Your Hon–” Hezekiah paused and began anew–“But, sir, there are fundamental questions involving moral law upon which right minded men must agree.”

“What’s this tirade got to do with me?” Obadiah demanded.

Hezekiah silenced the mill owner with a gesture of great dignity. “Never interrupt counsel in the midst of argument,” he protested, absently. “Undoubtedly you will be afforded ample time to present your own views.” He paused, blinking nervously. The interruption had disturbed his train of thought, but in a moment he continued. “At stated periods, prudent merchants take trial balances and invoices that they may know the condition of their business. It is likewise well for men at times to take account of their relations with their associates. It is my purpose to do that now, Obadiah Dale.” In Hezekiah’s eyes was a far away look now. “It’s nearly thirty years since I entered your employ–thirty years, Obadiah, the cream of my life. Its period of highest power I have given to you. My life must be judged by my accomplishments for you. You and I alone know what part my judgment has had in the development of your great business. As a young man, I liked you, Obadiah. I admired your energy and perseverance and that combativeness which made you give battle in open competition for new fields of commercial activity. Success came to you in a measure permitted to but few, and the tremendous power of wealth accompanied it. Thoughts come to me of your wife, that fair rose of the Southland, who not only brought sunshine into your own house but spread it among all those who were privileged to know her. In her you were a twice blessed man. A daughter was born to you, the image of her mother, and so were you thrice blessed.”

Hezekiah’s face became stern. “I have tried to judge you fairly at the bar of my heart, Obadiah. Old friendship has pleaded for you. Unhappiness over the loss of your wife may have swayed you. Yet, something tells me that you were always the man that you have been of late, concealing the evil in you that you might the better court success. At any rate, there has been a gradual outward change in you until here and now”–Hezekiah was very grave–“I impeach you before the high court of my heart for divers crimes and offenses, treasonable in their nature, against the good will and happiness of your fellowmen.”

The prisoner at the bar gave a start, possibly remembering that the historical punishment for treason was the headsman’s axe.

“You have hardened, Obadiah,” the lawyer continued relentlessly, “until you have grown as icy cold as the winter hills of your native lands. You have become cruel and rapacious in your business dealings. Of late years your commercial pathway is strewn with the wrecks of enterprises, which in no sense affected your own safety but which you have ruined through a sheer desire to dominate, a naked lust for power. Controlled by greed and avarice, no generous thought for your fellowmen actuates you. Steeped in your own selfishness, you sit in this room like–” shaking a forefinger at Obadiah the attorney hesitated, seeking a fitting condemnatory simile. Suddenly he concluded–“like a fat hog,” and struck the desk of the alleged swine such a thump that the pork jumped.

“Your memory will tell you how many times I have blocked your devilish schemes by convincing you that, if persisted in, the anti-trust laws must land you behind prison bars.”

Hezekiah in the pose of a stout statue of liberty, thrust up his right arm and clasped his left hand to his breast. He fixed accusing eyes upon the manufacturer and cried in a big voice, “If the world knew as much about you as I do, I am not so sure but they’d incarcerate you under the first law of nature–self-preservation.”

“Hush!” Obadiah paled visibly and with great nervousness viewed the open transom.

Hezekiah leveled an arraigning hand at his employer. “Your actions should be such that you could rest in equanimity while they are cried aloud in the market places. The hour of reckoning is at hand, Obadiah. You believe yourself invincible. Blinded by a curtain of obstinacy you have not read your destiny. I tear it aside and expose your dark future. Your daughter, beautiful and affectionate, filled, as was her mother, with thoughts of others, discovers your true character and, turning from you, prefers the peace of a good conscience amidst humbler surroundings to a home of wealth in your company. She leaves you–alone.”

Obadiah winced.

Hezekiah returned to his task with renewed vigor. “This morning your personal staff–men who have been with you for years–separate from you. I have no hesitation in assuming that they departed rankling beneath injustice. They leave you–alone. Now your attorney”–Hezekiah’s voice was filled with feeling–“your adviser for years, tenders his resignation rather than to be a party to enforcing your selfish demands against your own daughter. He leaves you–alone.”

Stunned by this unexpected shot, Obadiah appeared to shrink in his chair.

Highly pleased at the effect and sound of his own words, Hezekiah seized upon the order of the Board of Health and, shaking it in the face of the mill owner, waxed ever more eloquent. Floating away upon the wings of his own fervid oratory, he continued in ringing tones.

“The keen eye of this great Commonwealth has found you out. Now does its strong right arm, the law, reach forth to protect the weak and restrain the strong. In ardent pursuit of evil it draws ever nearer and nearer, until at last it embraces even the waste–”

Hezekiah stopped short. A look of horror, loathing and disgust swept his countenance. He was inexpressibly shocked at the extraordinary conclusion to which his simile hastened.

To Obadiah, the repugnance in Hezekiah’s face depicted antipathy towards himself. For years the attorney had been the manufacturer’s one friend. He had admired the lawyer’s learning and leaned upon his judgment. For years he had known that words were playthings in his legal adviser’s mouth; but that look was too much. The aversion and detestation displayed crushed the mill owner. Humbled to the dust he reviewed the calamities which Hezekiah had so ably painted. With due allowance for rhetorical exaggeration, they frightened him. He must save Hezekiah to pilot him through the darkness.

Sick and weary and miserable but above all else lonely, Obadiah arose from his desk and confronted the lawyer. “Hezekiah, you will not leave me?” he begged, in pitiful humiliation, his anger gone.

The placid Hezekiah was shaken to the depths of his soul at the catastrophe which had befallen him. Vain of his oratorical ability, he regarded his address to Obadiah as a worthy effort until his final bull. Such slips are remembered by one’s professional brethren until the end of one’s life. He took his grievance out on the abased Obadiah.

“I’m tired,” he growled, “tired of your greed and selfishness, tired of your confounded pigheadedness and the continual scrap in which you live. You’re old, Obadiah. I bet you ten dollars that the hearse is in use which will haul you to the cemetery.”

Obadiah shuddered and displayed no disposition to take the wager.

Hezekiah went on testily. “You worry about money until every one hates and despises you. It’s bad for my reputation to work for you–to be caught in your company. I have saved enough to keep me comfortable until I die and I’m going to take it easy. I want to quit fighting law suits and go to compromising.” A glint of his usual humor flashed in Hezekiah’s eyes. “If you’d let me compromise your cases, I might stay.”

Obadiah made a quick motion as of consent.

Hezekiah viewed his shaking employer with great severity. “You must prove your conversion by your works,” he rapped. “You’ve got to show me.”

“What should I do, Hezekiah?” the manufacturer, looking helpless and old, begged. “Give me the benefit of your advice.”

“Do?” snapped Hezekiah petulantly. “Decide how you think a thing ought to be done and do the opposite. You’re always wrong.”

“Please be specific, Hezekiah.”

At the word “please,” the lawyer started in surprise. In a moment he growled, “Compromise. Learn to consider the rights and wishes of other people. The compromise is a most valuable instrument in bringing about domestic happiness,” and with this sage advice, Hezekiah, the bachelor, left his employer.

Stricken low by physical disorder and verbal assaults, it was a day of gloomy forebodings to Obadiah. After Hezekiah’s oration, the path ahead, usually certain and clear to him, seemed beset with obstacles and lined with eyes of hatred.

When he went home that night there seemed to be a stoop in his usually erect carriage and a deep anxiety dwelt in his eyes. Hardly touching his dinner, he sat through it, in his dining room, plunged in thought.

Serena marked the change in the behavior of her employer with great interest. Returning to the kitchen, she told Ike, “Mr. Devil done sna’ah dat ole man wid er bait o’ shinin’ gol’. Now he gwine hawg tie ’im wid hot chains outen de fu’nace o’ to’ment so dat he kin tote ’im to de aige o’ de bottomless pit an’ cas’ ’im into de fiah an’ brimstone. Dat ole man is er strivin’ mighty fie’ce to git loose. He’s er gnawin’ off er leg to git outen de sn’ah, as de hot i’on burns ’im an’ de brimstone smoke choke ’im.”

The chauffeur, being for the moment in high favor, was enjoying a piece of pie as a fitting appetizer for his later dinner. “He ain’ lif’ up his voice in prah or mek no sign er tall,” responded the youth, giving close attention to the pastry and but little heed to the demoniacal trapping going on in the neighborhood.

“Dey’s er fightin’ ete’nally, boy,” explained Serena with scorn.

Ike rolled his eyes, exposing large areas of white until they rested upon the woman. “Ain’ you mek er mistake, Miss Sereny?” he suggested respectfully. “Ain’ you mean infe’nally?”

“Look yere, boy,” she retorted with great dignity, “ah ain’ er astin’ no trash lak yo’all to teach me nothin’. Ah gits ma ’ligion f’om de good book in de chu’ch house. Min’ you’ own business.”

Obadiah retired early and again tossed backwards and forwards through long hours. Hezekiah had indeed torn aside a concealing veil from the manufacturer’s life. Obadiah was not a man given to introspection, but, for the first time in years, the words of his attorney had forced it upon him. Tonight his boasted accomplishments were nothing, while episodes which he would have gladly forgotten loomed large. Above all else a great loneliness and fear of the future crushed him.

In this hour of deepest humility, recollections of his wife and the far away days of his married life came to him. Sweet and tender memories these, of occurrences almost forgotten. He softened to them, and moments followed when it was as if the spirit of Elinor Dale had crossed the span of years and labored with the troubled soul of the selfish, obstinate, purse-proud old rich man until at last, Obadiah–slept in peace.

When he appeared in the morning, a change had taken place in him. There was strength and decision in his face; but it seemed as if the lines of cruelty and obstinacy were altered and smoothed away as the ruts and tracks upon a sandy beach after a great storm.

CHAPTER XX
HIS JOURNEY’S END

An hour later there was a sharp rap of the old fashioned knocker on the front door. “Mercy sakes upon us,” muttered Aunt Kate. “What business has anybody coming here at this time of day?” A look of aversion crept over her face. “I’ll bet my boots it is an agent or a peddler. I’ll send him packing pretty quick with a flea in his ear.” Apparently bent upon carrying out this peculiar attention she hurried into the hall. Bending low, she pulled aside the curtain of a side light and peered out. The feet and legs before her advertised their owner as a man. “It is a peddler,” she murmured. Her gentle face assumed a stern and forbidding aspect. Suddenly, she jerked the door open and, glowering at the intruder, cried, “Go away! I don’t want–”

The victim of this unusual reception was her brother Obadiah.

“Land o’ Goshen, how you frightened me, Obadiah Dale,” Aunt Kate reproached him as soon as she recovered from her surprise. “Don’t you know any better than to scare a body half to death?”

“I didn’t intend to frighten you, Kate,” Obadiah protested, when he got over his own astonishment.

“The bad place is paved with good intentions,” she quoted with sternness and, as her brother hesitated upon the porch, puzzled at his extraordinary greeting, she commanded, “Come in. What are you waiting out there for? Must I lead you in?” Giving him a ceremonious kiss, she ushered him into the large back room where the table prepared for luncheon reminded her to be hospitable. “Have you had breakfast, Obadiah? I’ll fix you something in a minute.”

“Yes, on the train. I don’t want anything to eat, Kate.”

Satisfied that her brother was not starving, she gazed at him over the tops of her spectacles with a humorous twinkle in her eyes. “This is a surprise. It is the first time that you have visited me since–” She paused in sudden indignation. “Obadiah Dale,” she went on sharply, “you have never deigned to honor me with a visit in my own home.”

He was nervous and ill at ease as he answered, “I know, Kate, but I’m a very–”

She interrupted him, in a gentler mood. “Yes, I know, Obadiah. The years have run swiftly. Yesterday we were boy and girl together at the old home. Today we are old folks, the best part of our lives spent. The page of our earthly hour is nearly written and there is only room for a few more sentences.” She glared at him with great severity and sniffed, “At least, we’d better see that these lines have something good about us.”

“Yes, Kate,” he agreed meekly.

“I know that you want to see–Virginia. She’s not here, Obadiah. She has gone up to the head of the pond to see Charles Augustus, the lame boy who was operated upon,” she told him.

Obadiah nodded. “How far is that from here? Can I walk it?”

Aunt Kate considered. “It’s about three miles by road. You will get lost and never find the place. The girls will be back by two or three o’clock. Can’t you make yourself comfortable and visit with me until then?”

“I do want to see Virginia. She has been away a long time.” He jumped to his feet and moved nervously about. “I think that I shall walk there, if you don’t mind, Kate.”

His anxiety awakened the sympathy of his sister. “You are not used to strolls like that. I am afraid that it will not be good for you. I have a horse that is old and fat and slow but he can haul us there if you can hitch him up.”

“That will do.” Obadiah was much relieved. “I’ll drive your horse. I used to do it when I was a boy.”

“That was a long time ago. You may have forgotten.” An idea struck her. “Do fashions change in harness? If so, you won’t know a thing about it and it won’t be safe to trust you.”

The employer of hundreds was disgusted at his sister’s display of lack of confidence in his abilities. “Harnesses haven’t changed,” he insisted, dryly.

At the barn, Archimedes was brought forth and Obadiah Dale, millionaire manufacturer, essayed to harness the steed to the family vehicle. He displayed great energy and his enthusiasm increased with the passage of time. Archimedes was an ideal animal for the mill owner’s experimentations. In all of his impressive dignity of weight and size, the animal waited motionless while Obadiah buckled and unbuckled straps in the making and correction of his errors. Minutes passed and disaster threatened only when, in slipping the bit between the massive teeth, a couple of the manufacturer’s fingers inadvertently attended the linked metal. Being asleep, the animal failed to take advantage of it.

At last, Obadiah, viewing his handiwork with pride, signified that all things were in readiness for the journey. Aunt Kate had noted his prolonged efforts with grave suspicion. She now approached Archimedes in the critical mood of an irritated C. O. at Saturday morning inspection. Obadiah took humble position, two paces to her right and rear.

“That trace is twisted. Straighten it!” she commanded.

He corrected this oversight.

She surveyed the bridle and whirled upon him, horror depicted in her eyes. “Obadiah Dale,” she exclaimed, “haven’t you any better sense than to take your own sister driving without buckling the reins to the bit. Lands sakes, I might have been dragged to a terrible death.”

Strange to relate, when this grave mistake had been overcome and all things were in order; in spite of the conclusive evidences of Obadiah’s incompetence, Aunt Kate permitted him to drive. As she climbed into the surrey, she announced, “I’ll sit back here where I can get out if anything goes wrong.”

This precaution as well as the general attitude of his sister towards Archimedes, had persuaded Obadiah that he had to do with a fractious steed, notwithstanding that all outward appearances justified the conclusion that Archimedes was a cow in soul and action.

The mill owner shoved open the sliding door of the barn with an anxious eye upon the fat back as if fearful that he might gallop wildly forth even as a fire horse leaving a truck house in response to an alarm.

Archimedes never budged.

Obadiah climbed clumsily over the front wheel, the reins hanging loosely from his hands. Seating himself, he promptly drew them taut, prepared for any emergency.

“Be careful, Obadiah,” Aunt Kate warned him from the back seat.

“Gid-ap!” Obadiah spoke in a soothing voice suitable to a high strung animal.

Archimedes held his ground.

Obadiah raised his voice in some degree, “Gid-ap!” he exclaimed.

Archimedes might have been cast in a supporting part in an equestrian statue for all the notice he took of what transpired about him.

In vain Obadiah amplified his efforts. “This fool horse is balky,” he grumbled to Aunt Kate.

“Archimedes balky, fiddle-de-dee,” she answered. “Maybe he’s tied.” Past experience caused her to examine the vicinity to be assured that through inadvertence they were not made fast to anything by chains or cables. Suddenly, she became aware of Obadiah’s firm rein. “No wonder!” she cried, “You are holding him too tight. You don’t know how to drive. Give me the lines.” Leaning forward over the back of the front seat Aunt Kate seized the reins and gave three or four swinging pulls as a conductor signaling to the engineman ahead. Simultaneously she made clicking sounds with her lips reminiscent of swine enjoying a milky repast.

Archimedes responded readily to this treatment and moved slowly forward.

“There,” Aunt Kate said with great satisfaction as she returned the reins to Obadiah. “That’s the way to drive a horse.” As they turned out of the driveway into the road, she warned him, “Do be careful of the automobiles.”

“Why should I be careful of them? Can’t they take care of themselves up here?” he demanded, meanwhile tugging at the reins, and then, “Who broke this fool horse?”

Aunt Kate leaned forward. “Where?” she asked with great anxiety only to quickly drop back into her seat with a suppressed, “Oh!”

Regardless of the efforts of the mill owner, the steed drifted gradually towards the gutter.

“This horse isn’t bridlewise,” Obadiah declared in disgust. “I might as well be trying to drive a cow.”

“He has more sense than lots of people I know,” Aunt Kate answered with a meaning look at her brother. “He wants to get out of the way of automobiles.”

For a few minutes Archimedes was permitted to follow the way of the gutter in peace, then, “This is ridiculous,” protested Obadiah. “I feel like a perfect idiot driving this way. I’ll be hanged if I’ll do it.” He yanked and shouted at the horse until, fighting every inch of the way, the animal drifted towards the crown of the road.

With nervous eyes, Aunt Kate searched the highway back of them for signs of approaching machines. “Obadiah, look out. Here comes a car,” she screamed.

Alarmed at her tone, his body stiffened to meet the shock of imminent collision. He jerked his head about fearfully to perceive a car following them a mile away. “Why did you startle me that way? I thought something was about to hit us,” he blurted.

The horn of the approaching machine demanded the road. Obadiah tugged at Archimedes anew. The horse answered but slowly.

“Hurry, Obadiah, they are running into us,” screamed Aunt Kate.

The mill owner redoubled his efforts to get out of the way as a series of frantic squawks and the grind of brakes sounded from behind them.

In desperation, Obadiah jerked out the whip and gave Archimedes a smart clip. The horse bounded clumsily and stopped in the middle of the road. The petted animal’s astonishment at this treatment was such that he had to pause for consideration.

“Don’t you strike my horse that way,” cried Aunt Kate indignantly, her mind diverted from the menacing automobile by the punishment of her property. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

Obadiah put up the whip, leaving the motionless Archimedes to meditate upon his injuries in the center of the highway while the automobile worked its way around. It came opposite to them, a flivver of the cheapest type–mere dust beside Obadiah’s own car.

A rough, angry man glared at the mill owner and bawled, “You old moss-back, do you think that you own this road? When somebody takes a wheel off of that old ark, it may”–the voice was very doubtful–“knock some sense into your bean. Don’t you know enough to put out your hand when you stop, you mutton-headed fool. If there was a constable about I’d have you chucked into the calaboose.”

Obadiah sat speechless under this insolence. Possibly he was becoming inured to unkind words. As the car disappeared in the distance his tongue was loosened, “Kate, did you get their number?” he inquired with great anxiety.

“No. Why on earth should I want their number? I hope I never see them again.”

He almost stammered in the flood of his wrath. “If I had it, I’d prosecute them–have them fined and put in prison.”

“What for–scolding us?” inquired Aunt Kate softly.

He did not answer for a time. When he turned his temper had departed. “Kate, I was wrong, I suppose,” he said.

She looked at him curiously and there was affection in her glance; but her voice was stern as she replied, “Obadiah, you were headstrong and it led you into trouble, as it used to when you were a boy.”

“Yes, Kate.” In Obadiah’s tones was a new note.

Thereafter, Archimedes pursued his way in the safety of the gutter until they turned into a little used lane where great trees, decked in wonderful autumnal colors, arched overhead, and unkempt hedges brushed their wheels. The birds, disturbed in their preparations for their trip South, made short, noisy flights ahead of the vehicle, protesting against the intrusion.

Regardless of this, Obadiah and Archimedes, meditating upon recent injuries, pursued the path that fate would have them follow.

CHAPTER XXI
THE TRIUMPH

“Joe!” she trilled, her sparkling blue eyes revealing her heart’s rejoicing. “Joe!” she repeated, in a voice which breathed its own enchantment.

He was almost to her, his face alight with his happiness.

“Joe!” she whispered again, and gave a startled glance of astonishment as this huge fellow with dancing eyes stood upon one leg, balanced himself with his cane and thrust forth an encircling arm. Rooted to the spot, she could not evade it as it drew her to him and, with fascinated eyes and curious thrills, she watched his head bend slowly towards her.

“Joe”–this time it was the voice of his mother speaking–“Where did you meet Virginia?”

His head went up and his arm dropped at his side. Virginia released his arms which she had clutched and, with reddened, telltale faces, they turned to Mrs. Curtis.

“We met in South Ridgefield, mother,” he told her, and the girl gave an embarrassed nod of agreement.

“Hum,” said Mrs. Curtis. The utterance meant little but her manner much. She disappeared only to return in a moment with a plate of doughnuts and a pitcher of milk. “Who is hungry?” she asked.

Among the young people, famine stalked abroad. In its relief, flushed faces regained their normal color and Helen’s mischievous giggles were quieted sufficiently for her to meet Joe with becoming gravity before giving her attention to her own sweetheart.

But alas, the course of true love is never smooth. Charles Augustus made energetic protest when he became aware that Helen proposed to offer him nourishment by hand after the manner in which infants but recently weaned are treated. “Lemme be! My hands aren’t lame,” he objected. An unhappy look spread over his face. “I get so tired sitting in this old chair. Every little while, too, mother rubs my leg and works it up and down. Ding bust it, that hurts.”

Helen, giving up her attempt to feed the boy, endeavored to sooth and comfort him. “In a week or so you will be running about without a sign of a crutch. Think of that. Won’t that be fine?”

“I should be out now,” he grumbled. “Something might happen to my hornet’s nest.”

“Don’t you worry,” Helen laughed. “Neither man nor beast will interfere with that.”

“How is Miss Knight?” Virginia asked Joe.

“Bossy as ever,” he answered.

“She was a good nurse and she was nice to you, Joe.”

“Yes,” he admitted with a chuckle; “but she is a whole lot nicer to Mike Kelly these days.”

Virginia was all interest.

“He’s as pleased with her as a snow bird at a blizzard. Every time it was Miss Knight’s evening off, he would make an early call upon me dressed in his best clothes.”

There came a knock at the front door.

Hastening to it at a nod from Mrs. Curtis, Helen threw it wide open. Aunt Kate and Obadiah waited without.

“Daddy,” cried Virginia, for the moment blissfully forgetful as she tried to get around Joe without hurting his outstretched leg.

“Obadiah Dale!” It was Mrs. Curtis who spoke from the doorway into the dining room and there was something in her voice which held them all. The happiness had gone from her face, leaving it cold and distorted with passion as Virginia had seen it.

“Obadiah Dale!”–she fairly hissed the words–“What do you want in my house? Would you like to do me greater harm–you robber?” She gave a shrill mirthless laugh and flung her hands towards the sides of the poorly furnished room. “Look about you. There isn’t much left since you got in your devil’s work.”

Mrs. Curtis’s eyes shifted to Virginia as, startled by this strange attack upon her father, she waited at Joe’s side. It was as if the woman struggled between aversion and regard. “I never thought you were his daughter,” she snarled.

White, tense and sickened to the depths of her being by the fear of shameful disclosures, the girl could make no reply.

Joe Curtis was watching his mother with worried eyes. The frightened faces of Helen and Charles Augustus peeped from behind Aunt Kate who, from the subdued exclamations and the indignant glances she gave her brother, was expecting to hear the worst of him.

Clearly, Obadiah was amazed at the woman’s words. He stood irresolute, his throat working as if he were trying to swallow something. At last he regained the power of speech. “Madam,” he began.

“Madam,” sneered the woman, “Octavia Curtis, the widow of Augustus Curtis, the man whose business you ruined by your infernal scheming, whose wife and two children were dragged by your greed and selfishness from a life of comfort–to this. What business have you in my house, you thief?”

Obadiah flushed and quailed under her words. Bewildered and puzzled, a guilty conscience in business catastrophes made him feel it advisable to allow his opponent to develop her case.

Mrs. Curtis’s words affected Virginia differently. Her face flushed and her fears passed. “Stop,” she interrupted, her eyes flashing angrily. “What right have you to speak so to my father?”

“Right?” Again that ugly laugh came from Mrs. Curtis as she urged, “Ask him how he ruined the Curtis mill at Brenton.”

Obadiah gave a start.

Aunt Kate, observing her brother through suspicious eyes, noted this. “As ye sow, so shall ye reap,” she quoted, for his greater comfort.

The mill owner glanced hastily towards the door as if seeking a line of retreat from this assemblage of women and lame men. But Aunt Kate, the inner keeper of the outer gate, barred his way.

Pale of face but with a determined set to her mouth, Virginia said softly, “Daddy, explain please. You must Daddy.”

“It was a perfectly legitimate business deal. The Curtis mill had notes upon the market, protected by a mortgage on the plant. I purchased them. When they became due and were not paid, to protect myself–and you–I foreclosed and took the mill. I suppose this woman was caught in the deal,” Obadiah answered and moved as if to leave the room.

“Stop, Daddy,” the girl commanded. “We must settle this matter now. Either too much or too little has been said.”

“Settle?” Once more that acrimonious laugh came from Mrs. Curtis’s lips. “How are you going to settle for sleepless nights, for worry and for tears? What can pay for those dreary days which grew into weeks and months since hope for my children was torn from my life?” She flung her arms wide in the anguish which tortured her. “How are you going to wipe out the fact that my poor lame baby”–she pointed at Charles Augustus–“had to depend upon charity to be able to play as other boys–plain charity,” she almost screamed. “Or that he”–she indicated Joe–“has been forced into the world to struggle for an education he might have had in comfort.”

“Oh,” moaned Virginia. The misery of the story clouded her eyes as they turned from the passion-torn woman to her father.

The flood of the emotion-driven woman’s words seemed to have made Obadiah helpless. He stood as if awaiting sentence for his evil doing, an old man abject and forlorn.

As she looked at him, a wave of pity swept over Virginia and her love for him struggled in her heart, regardless of all that had been said against him. “My father can’t be to blame for all of this. I couldn’t believe it of him,” she cried.

It was as if the note of grief and entreaty in the girl’s voice tempered the anger of Mrs. Curtis. She dropped into a chair and began to sob. Joe Curtis arose hastily, limped over to her side, and tried to sooth her. At the sound of his mother’s grief, Charles Augustus put his head upon Helen’s shoulder and wept also.

Virginia moved over and gently touched the shoulder of the sobbing woman, who, flinching from contact with the girl’s hand, drew herself sharply away.

“Don’t, mother,” pleaded Joe.

Virginia withdrew her hand, yet she remained by Mrs. Curtis’s chair. “Tell me the whole story,” she begged. “I must know. I have the right to know.”

Even through her own grief, the anxiety and unhappiness of the girl touched the older woman. She raised her brimming eyes. Her temper had died away and she spoke rapidly, almost in a monotone, broken by sob hiccoughs. “At my husband’s death every thing that he left me was invested in our mill. It was a good business and should have given me and my boys the comforts and even the luxuries of life. Before his death, he had borrowed money to make improvements, giving notes secured by a mortgage upon the plant.

“After he had gone, I took charge of the mill and tried to run it myself. I was not a very good business woman. I had a hard time to pay the interest on our indebtedness. When the notes came due, I asked for a renewal but my request was refused. I was thunderstruck. I learned that your father had bought the notes, and wherever I tried to raise money I was refused because of his influence as a rival manufacturer. So I lost my mill and had to meet life, a widow with a baby and a young boy, a little money, and this old farm.”

A flash of her anger returned and she pointed at Obadiah. “My boys are raised in poverty while he stands there in the pride of his wealth. When he got the mill he never used it. He closed it, throwing good people who had worked for us for years out of employment. They had to move away and sacrifice their little homes. It brought sorrow to them as well as to me. He, Obadiah Dale, is to blame for all of this.”

Aunt Kate wiped a tear from her eye.

“Daddy,” Virginia said softly, “did you know the harm that you were doing to all of these people?” Her eyes searched his, as if to discover his answer before he could utter it, and her tones beseeched him to justify her love at the altar of her heart.

Obadiah stiffened. He held up his head and returned the look of his daughter squarely. He knew that he was giving battle for her love, aye, even for her respect. The old man was a fighter. “No!” he cried. “It is unjust to charge me with all of the sorrows and tribulations of this family. I built the first mill in this country–took the chances of opening the industry. The Brenton mill was established to compete with me. There was room for one big plant here and only one. Augustus Curtis knew it and expected to put me out of business. Mrs. Curtis”–Obadiah’s voice was firm now–“you have said some hard things about me today in the presence of my daughter and sister. I am entitled in common justice to my defence. I started in business without a dollar. Much worse off, I think, than your husband. Business has been a battle of supremacy with me. I have taken hard licks and I have given them. I have fought my way. Remember, I had to. A man must win or lose in business and many are the weapons used. I struck with the first one at hand and hit the man in front of me. Do you blame a soldier for the suffering of the dependents of those he kills in battle? I think not. Mrs. Curtis,” he continued, “you never met me before.”

“No,” she admitted.

“How did you recognize me?”

“My husband pointed you out to me in South Ridgefield,” she sobbed.

“Did you ever advertise the fact that you were running that mill?”

“I was afraid to,” she moaned. “I used my husband’s name.”

“You see,” said Obadiah to Virginia. “I had no way of knowing that a woman was running the Brenton mill. I plead guilty to fighting men. When I get whipped I smile. When I put a man out of business he starts another. He doesn’t sit down and cry and blame me for what happens to his family ever afterwards. I never fought a woman in all of my life.”

“It’s true, Obadiah. You used to talk back but you never fought with me. I am afraid that you are going to have to get a camel through a needle’s eye; but you wouldn’t fight a woman,” interjected Aunt Kate.

Obadiah disregarded his sister’s fears and went on, “Did you ever hear of Dalton, the New York manufacturer?”

Mrs. Curtis nodded.

“Five years ago, he started to put me out of business by buying up the small mills and pooling them against me. To protect myself, I bought negotiable paper, covering mills in this locality wherever I could get it. Where I could get control of the mills, I did it. They were my competitors and would have taken my business or combined against me gladly,” Obadiah’s eyes rested anxiously upon the face of his daughter as he concluded, “I was fighting Dalton, a more powerful man than myself, not widows and orphans.”

Virginia’s face had softened but there was yet a question in her manner.

“I am an old man,” Obadiah continued. “I find that my ideas are changing and my view of life shifting. I have believed that the accumulation of wealth was everything. I know now that the happy man must accumulate other things or he will find himself deserted and miserable with his gold. In my life I have been guilty of many wrongs. I would right those wrongs if I could. Will you forgive me, Mrs. Curtis, for unknowingly harming you and yours?”

“No,” she cried. “You explain your reasons for loosening the forces which injured me; but there is no regret in your heart. You’d do the same thing tomorrow.”

He turned to his daughter. “At least, you understand me, Virginia?”

“I know what you have done, Daddy; but Mrs. Curtis has suffered, and she alone can wipe the slate clean.” The girl’s face had saddened again, and as she spoke it was as if she had forgotten that there were others in the room. “Mother wouldn’t have wanted you to make all of this unhappiness. You brought sorrow and tears where she would have wanted you to carry laughter and joy. I can’t judge you fairly. How I have longed for you during the past weeks and how I have wanted to go home. Unless Mrs. Curtis can forgive you, Daddy, you haven’t found mother’s way to settle this matter.” She gave a queer strained little cry. “I can never go home with you, Daddy, until you learn to follow her way,” she sobbed, and dropped into a chair.

At the girl’s words, Mrs. Curtis had raised her eyes, and as she listened her face softened. As Virginia sank into the chair, the woman was beside her, petting and soothing her.

It seemed as if his daughter’s words had taken the very heart out of Obadiah. It was a haggard old man bowed low with trouble who watched her, the greatness of his longing written plain upon his lined countenance.

Suddenly Mrs. Curtis moved towards him. “Obadiah Dale”–she spoke so gently that it was hard to recognize her as the one who had so recently flung the accusations at him–“a moment ago I told you that I could not forgive you. I was wrong. Your daughter told you that it would have been her mother’s way to have brought laughter and joy to me instead of sorrow and tears. That which your daughter has done for my son, Charles Augustus, fills my heart with joy and brings laughter to my lips. She has followed her mother’s way. I can’t believe that any man altogether bad could be the father of such a daughter.” She held out her hand to him. “I forgive you.”

“When I was at the office of the Board of Health, yesterday, Virginia,” Joe announced, as one discussing a topic of great personal interest, “I was told that your father had agreed to keep the mill waste out of the river.”

There was a scream of delight, and a teary Virginia launched herself into her father’s arms, giving happy cries of endearment. In a moment she faced Mrs. Curtis, and cried, “He’s perfectly grand. He’ll do anything to right your wrongs.”

Mrs. Curtis smiled. “I think that we had better let your father forget my troubles for a moment,” she urged.

“Land sakes,” ejaculated Aunt Kate in a loud whisper, “I’m glad to see that woman laugh. I was afraid that she loved her troubles so much she wouldn’t give them up.”

“Hush, mother, she’ll hear you,” expostulated Helen.

Thus repressed, Aunt Kate delivered a moral lesson to Charles Augustus in a voice heard all over the room. “It is easier to receive thanks for doing nice things, Charles, than to have to beg forgiveness for doing mean ones.”

Fortunately Obadiah, diligently engaged at that moment in erasing the past, was deaf to his sister’s remarks. He told Mrs. Curtis, “I’ll re-open the Brenton mill as soon as I can have it overhauled. I can use it on some contracts I have. The profits shall be yours. When you can repay the amount of the notes from them, I’ll transfer the mill back to you. If you wish, I’ll buy it from you or rent it until your son is capable of assuming charge of it.”

He faced Joe and said, “I understand that you’ll graduate from college this June. There’ll be a position waiting for you in my mill.”

“In South Ridgefield?” Virginia inquired anxiously.

Obadiah gave his daughter a keen glance and then stared at Joe appraisingly before he answered. “Yes, in South Ridgefield, until his mother wants him to take charge of her own business. By that time, if he has brains and follows my plans for him, he should be the finest young mill executive in this part of the country.”

The youthful Charles Augustus came under the mill owner’s eye. “I’ll see that every expense connected with the operation upon this young man is paid. We don’t want outsiders in on that.”

He perceived Helen. “Well, well, how you have grown,” he declared in surprise. “You want to be a teacher. I’ll send you to college.”

“Goodness knows, Obadiah,” protested Aunt Kate, “a body would think it was Christmas.” She viewed him doubtfully. “I am afraid that you were always inclined to be a little extravagant.”

From the moment that his daughter embraced him, happiness had filled the soul of the mill owner. The difficulties of the past few days were forgotten. He beamed at his sister, generosity oozing from every pore. “Your house needs painting, Kate. I’ll have it done. I’ll sell that plug of a horse you have and buy you one that is broken or get you an automobile.”

“Stop right there, Obadiah,” she commanded. “I have managed my affairs for years without your help. When you talk about selling a horse like Archimedes, I doubt your judgment. Look there!” She pointed proudly through the window. “Who’d care to own a finer horse than that?”

Even as the assembled ones followed Aunt Kate’s finger, Archimedes, wearied by the prolonged call, gathered his feet beneath him and with a care for the shafts evidencing practice, sank to the ground. From this position of comfort, usually reserved by most well bred horses for the privacy of the box stall, Archimedes viewed his surroundings apparently with great complacency.

CHAPTER XXII
NOBODY HOME, MR. DEVIL

In this delicate mantle were enfolded the huts of the poor and the palaces of the rich, the lonely dwelling and the massed houses of great cities. The thriving municipality of South Ridgefield was lighted by this mild illumination which painted with a gleaming brush the residence of Mrs. Henderson, and even tinged the bald head of that learned lawyer, Hezekiah Wilkins, who, seated upon the porch railing, gazed heavenward and told the widow, “It’s a beautiful moon, Mary. I have always admired the moon. It’s the friend of youth. Since the beginning of time it has been the one welcome third party at sentimental trysts. If the moon were a gossip what stories it could tell. What vows have been uttered in its presence and signed and sealed–”

“And broken, Hezekiah?” suggested Hennie.

“What if the moon should turn tattletale, Mary?”

“Don’t worry. It’s blind or it would blush red with shame for the fickleness of men,” Mrs. Henderson told him and then went on, “Forget the moon and tell me what you did for Virginia that worked this miracle?”

He chuckled. “It was so easy. I told Obadiah that he made me think of a fat hog. As usual he displayed–ahem–confidence in my judgment.”

She leaned towards him, her face filled with delight. “Hezekiah Wilkins,” she whispered excitedly, “I could hug you for those words.”

“I’ve been waiting a good many years for you to do that, Mary.”

She dropped her head. “It’s the moon, Hezekiah,” she warned him. “I forgot how to embrace any one years ago.”

In the mysterious light, it seemed to him that a smile played about her mouth. His arm slipped about her waist. He tipped her chin gently and looked down into the face which for so long had meant to him the one woman. “Is it true, Mary? You’ll marry me?”

A stray cloud passed in front of the moon, and when it passed, the beams lighted the porch of Aunt Kate’s house at Old Rock.

The door opened and Obadiah came out, while his sister drew a shawl closer to her shoulders and waited in the doorway. “It’s a beautiful night,” she said, “a perfect Fall night.”

“It’s chilly–it’s really cold,” he objected, shrugging his shoulders. He walked to the end of the porch and looked towards the apple tree where the hammock swung in lonesomeness. “Where is Virginia?” he asked.

“She went walking with Joe.”

“She’ll freeze,” he worried.

Humor glinted in Aunt Kate’s eyes. “Girls take moonlight walks on the coldest winter nights and I never heard of one freezing, Obadiah. Your blood is thin. Come in and I’ll build a fire of chips for you.”

“No,” protested Obadiah, “I’ll build one for you.”

The moonbeams bathed the meadow and the pond in their soft light. They silvered the great bowlder left by some glacier upon the edge of this inland water. On a depression in its side sat Joe, and Virginia was at his side. Before them stretched the shadowed mirror of the pond. Opposite loomed the tree clad hill in misty gloom. The moon clothed its summit in a mantle of light, reflected the tree-broken sky line in delicate tracery upon the water below, and pushed a shining pathway to their feet.

The spell of the night held the girl. It seemed wrong to speak aloud. “Listen, Joe,” she whispered, “the world is asleep.” From the hill came the sound of a cow bell sweetened by distance. Except for this and the crickets all was still. “It’s not a bit lonely,” she sighed.

“No, not nearly as lonely as South Ridgefield after you left,” he agreed.

“Did you miss me?” She was watching the pond.

He stole a glance at the curves of her face and the flash of her eyes. It seemed to him that never since the beginning of time could there have been such another. He had lured a spirit of the night to a seat beside him. “I nearly died of loneliness,” he answered.

“You poor boy.” Her voice was rich in tenderness. “Loneliness is dreadful, Joe. I don’t want you to feel that way.” Surely this was a nymph who had stolen forth to give him sympathy.

“I was miserable every moment after you left,” he told her pathetically.

She turned her face to him, wonderful in its mysterious moonlight beauty. “Joe,” she pleaded, “you must not be sad. Knowing me must not bring unhappiness to you.”

“You must never leave me again, Virginia. When I am away from you I can’t be happy.” Now the blue eyes were drawing a marvelous power of enchantment from the moonbeams, and the black eyes were reflecting the wonder of it. Under the charm of it, he dropped his cane.

With a little cry of tenderness she tried to catch it. Losing her balance she fell towards him. He caught her in his arms, and the only other cloud in all the heavens that night drifted before the moon and the world darkened. Yet, on this old rock, lips touched and love blazed and hearts whispered words of gladness.

The cloud passed on and the beams fell upon Serena, who had come forth upon the stoop of the Dale kitchen for a breath of fresh air. She raised her eyes to the great orb hanging high above her. Its light displayed a look of great happiness and contentment upon her black face as she whispered into the night, “Praise be! Ma honey chil’ is er comin’ home. De ole man done conquah de evil spi’it which to’ment ’im. Dat fool Ike done heard de warnin’ dat come lak er cry in de night, an’ join de chu’ch. Nobody home, Mr. Devil.”

THE END

THE TRIUMPH OF VIRGINIA DALE
Another GLAD Book (Trade Mark)

By John Francis, Jr.

Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.90

This new novel, marking the advent of a hitherto unknown writer of fiction, offers, along with a delightful romance of youth, a tinge of scintillating humor that stamps itself indelibly on the mind of the reader, and evokes many a sympathetic chuckle. It fairly bubbles over with exuberant cheerfulness, and is sure to inject a good share of its unlimited store of “What’s good for the world” into every one who is lucky enough to read it.

Furthermore, the peculiar magnetism of the characters is such that the reader cannot believe they are merely book creatures, and, we wager they are not. Virginia Dale, the heroine, is a Good Samaritan, Miss Sunshine, and Glad Heart–all of these–and yet the most natural young person imaginable, and as she progresses in her mission of “brightening up the corner” she builds for her own future one of the most beautiful characters fiction has ever claimed.

The story is essentially a “character” story, but this does not detract from the plot what it just seems to get in the natural course of things, for, as a venerable reader once aptly remarked: “When story folk act natural, we ain’t goin’ to forgit ’em.”

THE PRINCESS NAIDA
By Brewer Corcoran
Author of “The Road to Le Rêve” etc.

Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated by H. Weston Taylor, $1.90

Adventure and romance are the keynotes of this new novel by Brewer Corcoran–adventure which will stir the blood of every lover of fast-moving action and culminative plot, and romance which will charm all who have a tender spot for a lovably beautiful girl and a regular “he” man. It is a tale of today, set amid the mountains of Switzerland and the ugly rocks of Bolshevism on which is wrecked the mythical principality of Nirgendsberg–a story of a brave little princess who puts unfaltering faith in American manhood and resourcefulness and finds a newer and a better throne. Bill Hale is the sort of hero who would win any girl’s love–a clever, capable chap with two fists and a keen sense of humor. Whether he is matching wits with suave Count Otto, romping with tiny Janos, fighting for his life in the hunting lodge at Wolkensberg or pleading for the love of his “princess who is all girl,” he is a man. The story of his fight for all that counts in life is told with a rush and sweep of action which will hold the reader breathless. The dialogue, like that in Mr. Corcoran’s other books, sparkles with humor, but there is a certain pleasurable grimness in his method of handling the Bolshevik which will strike an answering note in every true American heart today.

“A romance of vivid interest, a love story full of youth and adventures that thrill. The dialogue is unusually clever, the characters delightfully real, the plot one that holds the reader’s interest to the end.” New York Sun.

A FLOWER OF MONTEREY
A Romance of the Californias

By Katherine B. Hamill

Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.90

The wealth, beauty and sunshine of the Californias in the days when Spain controlled our western coast and England looked with covetous eyes, form the setting for this beautiful and artistic romance by a new author. Mrs. Hamill has recreated vividly the little Spanish town where the mission bells rang silvery at dawn, where scarlet uniforms flashed in the stately drill of an afternoon dress parade and beautiful women wore lace mantillas. Pajarita, the “Flower of Monterey,” is an American waif, cast up by the sea, who grows up among the senors and senoritas, happy as the sunshine, but with a healthy American disrespect for the Spanish modes of life. Two men love her–Don Jose, the gobernador proprietaro of all the Californias, and a young American sailor-adventurer, John Asterly.

John Asterly, the hero of A FLOWER OF MONTEREY, came to the Californias from Boston. He is perhaps thirty years old, adventurous and impetuous. At a dance on the beach at Monterey, shortly after his arrival in the Californias, he meets Pajarita, “the Flower of Monterey,” and falls in love with the girl, although she is promised to her benefactor, the Spanish Governor. On the very night before her wedding, Asterly tries to dissuade Pajarita from her marriage with some one other than an American, and then the romance, rivalry and adventure begin. The historical setting of the story is correct and the romance unfolds with dash and symmetry.

WILD WINGS

Margaret R. Piper

Author of “Sylvia’s Experiment,” “The House
on the Hill,” “Sylvia Arden Decides,” etc.

Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.90

In this “story of youth for grown-ups,” the vigorous, happy Holiday youngsters who lived in the “House on the Hill” develop into keen, lovable young people, thoroughly worth knowing. To Tony, as brilliant and beautiful as a girl can well be and still be human, comes a successful theatrical career on Broadway, and a great love, and Larry grows into the industrious, reliant young doctor that one would expect him to be.

Few writers today display the ability which Miss Piper does to “grow up” a large family of boys and girls, each with an individuality well developed and attractive, and her Holiday family holds a distinctive place in American fiction for young people today.

As the charming characters work their way out of problems which face all young people of buoyant spirits and ambitions, WILD WINGS gives a definite message as to the happiest relationship between old and young.

“There is a world of human nature and neighborhood contentment in Margaret R. Piper’s books of good cheer. Her tales are well proportioned and subtly strong in their literary aspects and quality.” North American, Philadelphia.

Selections from
The Page Company’s
List of Fiction

WORKS OF
ELEANOR H. PORTER

POLLYANNA: The GLAD Book (500,000) (Trade Mark)

Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.90

Mr. Leigh Mitchell Hodges, The Optimist, in an editorial for the Philadelphia North American, says: “And when, after Pollyanna has gone away, you get her letter saying she is going to take ‘eight steps’ tomorrow–well, I don’t know just what you may do, but I know of one person who buried his face in his hands and shook with the gladdest sort of sadness and got down on his knees and thanked the Giver of all gladness for Pollyanna.”

POLLYANNA: The GLAD Book. Mary Pickford Edition (Trade Mark)

Illustrated with thirty-two half-tone reproductions of scenes from the motion picture production, and a jacket with a portrait of Mary Pickford in color.

Cloth decorative, 12mo, $2.25

While preparing “Pollyanna” for the screen, Miss Pickford said enthusiastically that it was the best picture she had ever made in her life, and the success of the picture on the screen has amply justified her statement. Mary Pickford’s interpretation of the beloved little heroine as shown in the illustrations, adds immeasurably to the intrinsic charm of this popular story.

POLLYANNA GROWS UP: The Second GLAD Book, Trade Mark (250,000)

Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.90

When the story of Pollyanna told in The Glad Book was ended, a great cry of regret for the vanishing “Glad Girl” went up all over the country–and other countries, too. Now Pollyanna appears again, just as sweet and joyous-hearted, more grown up and more lovable.

“Take away frowns! Put down the worries! Stop fidgeting and disagreeing and grumbling! Cheer up, everybody! Pollyanna has come back!”–Christian Herald.

MISS BILLY (93rd thousand)

Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a painting by G. Tyng, $1.90

“There is something altogether fascinating about ‘Miss Billy,’ some inexplicable feminine characteristic that seems to demand the individual attention of the reader from the moment we open the book until we reluctantly turn the last page.”–Boston Transcript.

MISS BILLY’S DECISION (78th thousand)

Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a painting by Henry W. Moore, $1.90

“The story is written in bright, clever style and has plenty of action and humor. Miss Billy is nice to know and so are her friends.”–New Haven Leader.

MISS BILLY–MARRIED (86th thousand)

Cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color from a painting by W. Haskell Coffin, $1.90

“Although Pollyanna is the only copyrighted glad girl, Miss Billy is just as glad as the younger figure and radiates just as much gladness. She disseminates joy so naturally that we wonder why all girls are not like her.”–Boston Transcript.

SIX STAR RANCH (45th thousand)

Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated by R. Farrington Elwell, $1.90

“‘Six Star Ranch’ bears all the charm of the author’s genius and is about a little girl down in Texas who practices the ‘Pollyanna Philosophy’ with irresistible success. The book is one of the kindliest things, if not the best, that the author of the Pollyanna books has done. It is a welcome addition to the fast-growing family of Glad Books.”–Howard Russell Bangs in the Boston Post.

CROSS CURRENTS

Cloth decorative, illustrated, $1.50

“To one who enjoys a story of life as it is to-day, with its sorrows as well as its triumphs, this volume is sure to appeal.”–Book News Monthly.

THE TURN OF THE TIDE

Cloth decorative, illustrated, $1.50

“A very beautiful book showing the influence that went to the development of the life of a dear little girl into a true and good woman.”–Herald and Presbyter, Cincinnati, Ohio.

NOVELS BY
ELIOT HARLOW ROBINSON

A book which has established its author in the front rank of American novelists.

SMILES, A ROSE OF THE CUMBERLANDS (26th thousand)

Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.90

Smiles is a girl who has already made many friends and is destined to make many more. Her real name is Rose, but the rough folk of the Cumberlands preferred their own way of addressing her, for her smile was so bright and winning that no other name suited her so well.