They found what they wanted, shortly, a little flat-bottomed affair, that just sufficed to float the two. They got in and rowed out to the yacht. Stepping aboard, Mr. Carleton dragged the light skiff also aboard after him. Then he paused abruptly, as though a thought had occurred to him. He shot one quick glance at Harry Brackett, and another off through the darkness.
“We need another small boat,” he said. “When we get down alongshore we’ll use them both.”
“There’s a rowboat moored off that cottage just below,” said Harry Brackett.
“Get it,” said Mr. Carleton, “when we sail up to it.”
Harry Brackett expressed surprise.
“Oh, we’ve got to put them back where we get them from, when we are through,” laughed Mr. Carleton. “Let’s untie the stops in this mainsail now. We’ll run it up only a little way, enough to drift down out of sight of any one from shore here. I want to light a cabin lamp, and I shouldn’t dare to do it here, though I guess every one’s gone to bed.”
There was certainly no sign of life in and about the town. There was not a fisherman in the harbour. Not even a light gleamed from a cottage window. Southport had gone to bed. It was a gloomy sort of night, too, with the black clouds wheeling along overhead, and only the uncertain glimmering of the stars in the shifting patches of blue to relieve the dreariness. Harry Brackett wondered what time he would get back home.
“It’s getting late,” he suggested.
“Well, it won’t take us long,” replied Mr. Carleton. “There, the sail’s free. Get forward and cast that mooring off, while I start the sail up a bit.”
Harry Brackett quickly gave the word that theVikinghad dropped its mooring. Mr. Carleton gave another vigorous haul on the halyards, made them fast, and sprang to the wheel. They ran down to where the rowboat lay, and picked that up. But then, Mr. Carleton, strangely enough, ran the sail up more than “a little way.” In fact, as it bagged out with a sharp flaw of the night-wind, theVikingshot ahead quickly and was almost instantly under full headway, gliding rapidly out from the shore.
“We’ve got to get that sail up still more,” exclaimed Mr. Carleton. “We don’t need it, but it’s dangerous sailing this way. However, we will get there all the quicker. You pull on those halyards when I head up into the wind.”
Harry Brackett, knowing little of what he was doing, complied.
“Now break into that cabin,” commanded Mr. Carleton. “There’s a hatchet under that seat. It’s all right. It’s a cheap lock. We’ve got to get in there.”
Harry Brackett hesitated. Was it going a bit too far?
“Hurry up, there!” exclaimed Mr. Carleton, impatiently. “We mustn’t lose any time.”
There was something in his voice that made Harry Brackett hesitate no longer. He took the hatchet and smashed the lock from the staple.
“Now,” said Mr. Carleton, quickly, “we’re down ’most far enough. We’ll need some rope. There’s some light spare line up forward in the cabin, usually. You just go below and look for it. Don’t light a lantern, though. It isn’t safe yet.”
Harry Brackett stumbled below.
There were two reefs in the sail, but the wind was squally; and there was sail enough on to make the water boil around the stern, as theVikingsped swiftly onward. Harry Brackett, fumbling and groping about in the cabin, could hear the rush of the water along the yacht’s sides. They were sailing fast.
Moreover, had Harry Brackett been on deck, he would have seen, now, that they were not running down alongshore, but, instead, were standing directly out from it, and rapidly leaving it astern.
“I can’t find any rope,” he called, at length.
“Look again. It must be there,” replied Mr. Carleton.
Harry Brackett rummaged some more.
“Light a lantern if you want to,” called Mr. Carleton, finally. “We’re most ready to drop anchor now. But turn the wick down low first.”
The light glimmered for a moment or two—and then Harry Brackett, dashing out of the cabin as though he had seen an evil spirit in some dark corner, and giving one wild, terrified glance across the waters, rushed up to and confronted Mr. Carleton.
“Here!” he cried, “What does this mean? You’re not going down alongshore! Why, we’re half a mile out! What are you doing? Don’t you get me into a scrape—oh, don’t you!”
The boy was trembling; and the chill night air, seeming to penetrate to his very marrow all at once, with his fright, set his teeth to chattering.
In answer, Mr. Carleton, holding the wheel with his right hand, reached out suddenly with the other hand and clutched the boy by an arm. He held him in a powerful grasp.
“See here,” he said, “you keep quiet. Do you understand? It’s a long swim from here to shore, and the water’s cold. One cry from you, and overboard you go. Sit down!”
Harry Brackett fell upon the seat, all in a heap. He tried to speak; to beg; to implore this cruel, evil man that was now revealed to him, to stop—to let him go ashore. But something rose in his throat that seemed to choke him; while the tears rolled down his cheeks. He could only gasp and utter a few sobs. He shook and shivered as though it had been a winter’s night.
“Get out of here!” exclaimed Mr. Carleton, sharply. “Go below and stop that whimpering. You’re not going to be hurt. And when you get your spunk back, come on deck again. I need you to help.”
“‘GET OUT OF HERE,’ EXCLAIMED MR. CARLETON, SHARPLY.”“‘GET OUT OF HERE,’ EXCLAIMED MR. CARLETON, SHARPLY.”
“‘GET OUT OF HERE,’ EXCLAIMED MR. CARLETON, SHARPLY.”
Harry Brackett stumbled below and threw himself on a berth, groaning in anguish.
TheViking, with Mr. Carleton sitting stern and silent at the wheel, sped on through the night.
Would they be pursued this night? Would before the dawn, to race with him? Thus there be any yacht set sail from Southport, thought Mr. Carleton. Thus he questioned himself, and answered, “No.”
And yet the good yachtVikingwas, all unknown to any one, running a race. The goal was Stoneland—and the competitor, the yachtSurprise.
Thirty miles apart, these two yachts had entered upon this race—and no one knew it. At about the time theVikinghad got under way from out Southport Harbour, so had the yachtSurprisefloated clear. Should they try to beat back to Stoneland before morning? Why not? The night need not stop them. The crew knew the way. The yachtSurprisebegan the long, ten-mile beat for Stoneland at about twelve o’clock. The yachtVikingwas already under way. Would they meet or would they pass?
Harry Brackett, lying miserably on the cabin berth, was suddenly aware that the yacht had ceased running and had swung up into the wind. Then he heard the sound of the sail dropping. He sat up in wonder. The next moment, Mr. Carleton descended into the cabin. The yachtVikingwas drifting before the wind at its own will. There was little sea on, and Mr. Carleton had abandoned the wheel.
“What—what’s the matter?” stammered poor Harry Brackett.
“Nothing,” replied Mr. Carleton, shortly. He paid no heed to the forlorn figure on the berth, but hastily proceeded to light another lantern. He turned the wick up so that it shone brightly, and, carrying it, went direct to the third starboard locker that had been Squire Brackett’s undoing. He stooped down and pulled out, first, the larger drawer, and then the smaller and secret one. By the lantern light, he looked within.
Harry Brackett, gazing at him in amazement, saw a strange and unaccountable thing. He saw the man’s face, in the lantern’s gleam, pale to a deathly hue. He saw the drawer that he held drop from his fingers and fall to the floor. He saw the man stagger back, like one that has been struck a blow. Then, the man’s face, turned toward him, was so full of fierce passion and wrath that he shrank back, terrified, and dared not speak to ask him what it might mean. Now Mr. Carleton advanced to where he lay.
“Get up! I want you to help me,” was all he said. But Harry Brackett, to his dying day, would never forget that voice. He scrambled up and followed the man outside.
“Get that sail up!” said Mr. Carleton.
Harry Brackett seized the halyards. The yachtVikingwent on its course again. But precious moments had been lost.
The man’s face was something fearful to look into. He threw the wheel over and back, as though he would twist it apart. But he uttered not a word.
Now they were running near a thin chain of islands. Mr. Carleton brought forth a chart and spread it out upon the cockpit floor, with the lantern on one corner.
“Do you know this bay at all?” he inquired, suddenly.
“Ye-es,” answered the boy. “Those are the Pine Islands just ahead, I think.”
“Right,” exclaimed Mr. Carleton. “I thought so. I’ll go through like a book.”
Presently he muttered something else, inaudible to Harry Brackett—and mercifully so. “I’ll do it,” he said. “The boy’s in the way. I’ve got to go it alone.”
It was quiet water in the channel between the islands, and theVikingskimmed through like a phantom yacht.
“Here, hold this wheel,” said Mr. Carleton, suddenly, turning to Harry Brackett. “Keep her just as she’s going.”
As the boy obeyed, Mr. Carleton seized the line by which the rowboat was towing and drew it up close astern.
“Get into that boat!” he said, the next moment.
Harry Brackett gave a howl of terror, and shrank away.
“No, no, oh don’t!” he cried. “Don’t you leave me here. I might have to stay a week. I’d starve. I’ll do any—”
Harry Brackett’s words were choked off, abruptly. He felt himself gathered up in two powerful arms. He was half-dragged, half-lifted, over the stern of the yacht, and tumbled into the boat, headlong. Then, as he scrambled to his feet, howling for mercy, a knife flashed in the hand of Mr. Carleton. The rope was severed. TheVikingshot ahead. The rowboat dropped astern. Harry Brackett, alone in the night, beheld the yacht speeding away like a shadow. A few rods away, the light waves moaned in upon a sandy beach. There was only the black, desolate island, untenanted save by sea-birds, to turn to. Like a lost and hopeless mariner, he got out an oar and paddled in to land, where, upon the beach, abandoned and overcome, he sank down and wept—a faint-hearted Crusoe, monarch of all the shadows and dreariness that he surveyed.
And now that he was in turn alone and in sight of no man, Mr. Carleton, at the wheel of theViking, engaged in strange pantomime. He clenched his fist and shook it at imaginary foes. He struck his hand again and again upon the wheel, as though that were alive and could feel the pain of the blow. If he had suddenly lost his wits he would not have done stranger things.
“But I’ve got the yacht!” he cried, angrily. “She’ll pay me for what I’ve spent. I’ll put her through.”
And then a sudden thought struck him. He brought theVikingabruptly into the wind again, dropped the wheel, and rushed down the companionway. He threw open the door of the provision locker—and uttered a cry of rage. It was empty.
Back at the wheel now was Mr. Carleton. The lights of Stoneland Harbour shone faintly, far, far ahead. He sat, grim and troubled.
“More time wasted!” he muttered. “But I’ve got to stop. And ’twill be three o’clock before I get in. If they’ve got word there, I’m lost. And where can a man buy food at that hour of the night? I have it—the big hotel. There’ll be somebody on watch. I’ll get it by four at the latest. I’ll play the gentleman yachtsman in distress, and pay handsomely.”
But he had lost time. The night had hindered him. By day, he could have laid a straighter course. And there had been delays. It was nearly half-past three when the yachtViking, feeling its way into the harbour of Stoneland, rounded to off the wharves, and the anchor went down. Leaving his sail set, and giving the yacht plenty of sheet, to lie easy, Mr. Carleton lifted the skiff over the rail, jumped in, and rowed ashore.
All safe and clear thus far. No sign of disturbance in the town, as he rowed in. No launch darting out to seize him. Only a few sluggish coasters lying near peacefully at anchor. Only a fishing-boat or two making an early start for the outer islands. Only, far down below, a red and a green light indistinctly to be seen, as of a small craft beating up to harbour.
Mr. Carleton rowed in to the wharf, tied his boat in a slip, and vanished up into the town.
A red and a green light, showing from port and starboard respectively, came to be seen more distinctly as the time went by. Close to, one might have seen now that it was a trim yacht, but beating in slowly, as one goes carefully in darkness, where shipping may lie.
There was also to be seen—if there had been any one to look—that a weary youth sat at the wheel; that a smaller, but brighter-eyed, nimble youngster was standing up forward, peering ahead into the darkness.
“I think we can anchor most anywhere here now,” said the boy astern. “I guess the water isn’t too deep to fetch bottom.”
“Wait a minute, Joe,” answered the boy forward, rubbing one bare foot against his trousers leg. “I say, there’s a sail, on ahead a few rods. Luff up a little more, and we’ll run in near to that.”
“All right, Tim, tell me when we’re heading right,” responded the other boy. But he stared at his small companion in astonishment, a moment later, when the latter, deserting his post, darted aft, uttering a warning “hush.”
“What on earth is the matter with you, Tim Reardon?” exclaimed the boy at the wheel.
“Let her come up and take a look for yourself,” was Tim Reardon’s reply. “It’s theViking, as sure as you’re alive. They must be asleep. We’ll get aboard and give Henry Burns one good toot on the horn. He’s fond of that sort of thing, so he can’t say anything to us. But I wonder what they’ve left the sail up for. Won’t they be surprised to see us?”
Joe Hinman, bringing theSurpriseup into the wind at the other’s words, himself gave an exclamation of surprise to see the sail set on theViking.
“That’s queer,” he said. “Tim, you take the tender and go aboard, while I hold theSurprisewhere she is. Don’t be a fool, though, and blow any horn. If they’re as tired as we are, they’ll be mad enough to throw you overboard.”
Tim Reardon made no reply, as he rowed alongside theViking, but a mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes.
When he had stepped softly aboard, however, and had crept down into the cabin, he darted swiftly on deck again.
“Joe,” he called, “this is great! They’ve gone ashore. And they must be coming back soon. That’s why they’ve left the sail up.”
Then Little Tim Reardon, scampering forward, did a strange thing. Tugging away at the rope, he brought the anchor off from bottom and clear to the surface of the water. Taking a few turns of the rope around the bitts, to secure it, he darted astern, seized the wheel of theViking, and put her under way.
“Here, you Tim, quit that!” cried Joe Hinman in disgust, from the stern of theSurprise. “You don’t want to be too free with your tomfoolery with Jack and Henry Burns. Just remember whose yacht we’re sailing. They’ll be mad clean through, too. It’s no joke to think you’ve lost a fine yacht.”
Little Tim only chuckled derisively, realizing that his larger companion could not compel obedience from the deck of another boat.
“I’m doing this,” he said. “We don’t get a chance to play a joke like this on Henry Burns every day. Wouldn’t he do it quick, himself, though? Besides, I’m not going far—only up around the end of that long wharf. We can watch from there and see what happens.”
“You’re a meddlesome little monkey; that’s what you are,” exclaimed Joe Hinman, too sleepy and weary to see fun in anything. “You’ll catch it from Jack—and you’ll get what you deserve.”
And yet Joe Hinman, so long as somebody else would smart for it, had just enough interest in the plot to follow along with theSurprise. Together, the two yachts turned in under the lee of a long wharf, less than an eighth of a mile ahead, lowered the sails so they should not be visible, and came to anchor.
“You’ve got to take the blame for this, Tim,” said Joe Hinman, as they waited together on deck.
“I’ll do it,” chuckled Tim Reardon. “I like a joke as well as Henry Burns does. He’ll take it all right, too. You see if he don’t.”
They woke the two boys who were sleeping in the cabin of theSurprise—to see the fun. George Baker and Allan Harding came on deck, sleepy and grumbling. Nor did the joke take on a more hilarious aspect, as the time went by and no Jack Harvey and no Henry Burns put in an appearance.
“I’m going to turn in,” said Joe Hinman, at length. “You can have all the fun to yourself, Tim.”
He went below, the two other boys following his example.
Little Tim, himself, began to lose heart in the joke—when, suddenly, in the faint gray of the approaching dawn, he espied a boat coming out from shore toward where theVikinghad lain. It was four o’clock. The boat was a small skiff. There was only one person in it. Whoever he was, he was rowing furiously. There seemed to be a box of some sort on the seat in front of him.
Suddenly the man ceased rowing. His head was turned for a moment. Then he sprang to his feet in the small skiff, with a jump that almost upset the craft. He peered wildly about him and seemed to be rubbing his eyes, like a person in a dream or one rudely aroused from sleep. Then he sat down and rowed a way down the harbour—then across to one side—then in toward shore again.
“That isn’t either Jack or Henry Burns,” said Tim Reardon; “and yet he acts as though he had lost something—his head, I guess.”
Little Tim was nearer correct than he knew.
“He looks familiar, too,” thought Tim Reardon. “What man does he look like? I can’t think.”
But what happened next was more extraordinary than before. The man suddenly sprang up, gave one glance about on all sides, then picked up the box on the seat before him and dumped it overboard. He resumed his seat, seized the oars, and began rowing furiously down the harbour. At a point some way below where he had first appeared, he ran the boat in to shore, sprang out, left the boat without tying it or dragging it up on the beach, and started off, running desperately.
“That’s a crazy man,” said Little Tim to himself—and again spoke not far from the truth, unwittingly.
“Hang the joke!” cried Tim, finally. “I wish I hadn’t done it now. It don’t seem so funny after waiting all this time. I’m going to bed, too. I guess I will catch it, just as Joe said I would.”
He went below, in the cabin of theViking. His companions were aboard theSurprise.
Morning came, and Little Tim awoke with something disturbing his mind. Oh, yes; now that he was wide awake, he knew. It was that joke. He wished he hadn’t played it. He wished so more and more when Joe Hinman awoke and found that Jack and Henry Burns had not put in an appearance.
“You’ve made a nice mess of it, Tim,” he exclaimed. “I wouldn’t be in your shoes, when Jack gets you. Like as not they’ve come down in sight of shore and seen that the yacht was gone, and have given out an alarm. The best thing we can do is to go up into the town and find them, and try to square things.”
Little Tim, looking very sober, scampered off, followed soon by the others. More puzzling than ever it became, when a search through the town failed to yield any trace of the missing yachtsmen. The boys returned to the yachts, and waited.
Somewhere near eleven o’clock there was a curious coincidence. Joe Hinman, looking off on the water, suddenly uttered an exclamation of surprise and pointed to a sailboat that was coming in.
“That’s Captain Sam’s old tub,” he said. “I know her as far as I can see her.”
But they received a greater surprise, the next moment. A man in some sort of uniform, passing along by the wharves, also uttered an exclamation and stopped short.
“Well, if that don’t beat me!” he said. “Of all fool things, to steal a yacht and bring her in here. That’s her, though: about thirty-eight feet; white; two jibs, and there’s the name, ‘Viking.’ Well, I never saw the like of this before.”
The man stepped to the edge of the wharf and jumped down on to the deck of theViking.
“Who’s in charge here?” he asked.
“I am,” replied Little Tim Reardon, emerging from the cabin.
The man laughed.
“You’re the youngest boat-thief on record,” he said, eying Tim wonderingly. “What put you up to it, boy? Been reading dime-novels?”
“Well, it’s all right, anyway,” replied Little Tim, who had, however, turned pale beneath his coating of tan. “They’re our friends that own the yacht. We’re waiting for ’em. Just let ’em know we’re here with the boat, and they’ll come down and tell you it’s all right.”
The man grinned.
“Say, you’re pretty slick, if you are small,” he said. “But the trouble is, your friends don’t happen to be in town. They sent a telegram from Bellport. I guess you’ll have to wait somewhere else for them.”
Little Tim’s eyes bulged out and his jaw dropped. But the next moment he was standing on his head, with his bare toes twinkling in the air, for sheer delight.
“Hooray; ’twas the man in the skiff that had her,” he cried—to the utter amazement of the stranger and of his own companions. “Just wait a minute, anyway, till that sailboat gets in. It comes from Southport, and perhaps Captain Sam can explain things.”
But there was some one besides Captain Sam aboard the good oldNancy Jane, to explain things. There were Jack Harvey and Henry Burns, standing up forward and peering ahead eagerly. And how they did yell when they saw the crew of theSurprisestanding on the wharf, waving to attract their attention.
And then, ten minutes later, when theNancy Jane, waddling in like a fat, good-natured duck of a boat, had come alongside, and had let Jack Harvey and Henry Burns scramble aboard theViking—almost with tears in their eyes—why then, Little Tim stepped forward and said he was under arrest for stealing the boat. And wouldn’t they please pardon him, and get the man to let him go; he wouldn’t do it again; oh, no. He had just found the yacht down below, with the sail up, and had run it up here for a joke—he was sorry—
But Little Tim didn’t get any farther, for Henry Burns had him lifted clear up on his shoulder. And Jack Harvey had him, the next minute, and between the two he was mauled and hugged and slapped till his shoulders smarted—and he was almost in tears, too, to discover what he had accomplished.
As for the official, who had made such an important discovery, he hardly knew at first whether to be angry or not, at finding that his discovery was really of a yacht that had already been recovered. But he finally relented, and patted Little Tim on the back, too, and said he was a good boy. Then he took Mr. Carleton’s description and hurried up into the town.
He got trace of Mr. Carleton, too, after a time, at the big hotel, where Carleton had succeeded in buying some provisions. He traced him from there, down through the town, to the wharf. Later, he found a man who had seen such a person come ashore from a skiff, and leave her adrift and run up the shore. And lastly, the station agent had seen a man answering that description take the early morning train out of town.
Mr. Carleton had, indeed, vanished—a disappointed, wrathful, frightened man. A strange and most complete disappearance, too, for neither Stoneland nor Southport heard of him more. True, there came a message from the police, a day later, that a man who was much like the missing Mr. Carleton, had had some trouble over a ticket with the conductor of a train entering Boston; but the man had got away from the station, and no arrest had been made.
But it was all one to Henry Burns and Jack Harvey, what should become of Mr. Carleton, when they had theVikingback. And there, in the course of the afternoon, when they were preparing to depart, was a canoe to be seen, coming down alongshore. So they sailed up and met it, and had Tom and Bob aboard. And there was Little Tim, whom they had taken with them, to be congratulated. And then, there were the Warren boys in theSpray, to be hunted up among the islands, and told the good news.
Oh, yes, and there was Captain Sam, roaring like a sea-lion over the good news. And there were the two yachts, theVikingand theSurprise, going up the bay together, to meet theSpraywherever they should find her.
Then, late that afternoon, as Captain Sam was nearing Grand Island, on his return voyage, he espied in the distance, close to shore, a forlorn figure, rowing wearily in the direction of Southport.
“I’m blest if that don’t look like young Harry Brackett,” exclaimed Captain Sam. “It is, as sure as you’re alive. Ahoy, don’t you want a tow, there?”
But the boy, turning his head in the direction of theNancy Jane, shook his head mournfully, and resumed his rowing.
“Well, you don’t have ter,” was Captain Sam’s comment.
Harry Brackett, sore, sleepless, and weary, had his own reasons for not wishing to face the captain.
One week later, Jack Harvey, sitting on the step of Rob Dakin’s store, received a letter. He opened and read:
“My dear Jack:—I’ve won the lawsuit and you shall have some money as soon as things are settled. I wonder how you have got along this summer. Too bad to cut you off, but I’ll make it up to you by and by. Let me know how much money you need.“Affectionately,“Your father,“William Harvey.”
“My dear Jack:—I’ve won the lawsuit and you shall have some money as soon as things are settled. I wonder how you have got along this summer. Too bad to cut you off, but I’ll make it up to you by and by. Let me know how much money you need.
“Affectionately,“Your father,“William Harvey.”
For once in his life, Jack Harvey was prompt with an answer. This is what he wrote:
“Dear Dad:—Glad you won. Much obliged for offering me the money. I don’t need it. I’ve been earning some, and if you want some ready money I’ll lend you twenty-five dollars.“Affectionately,“Your son,“Jack.”
“Dear Dad:—Glad you won. Much obliged for offering me the money. I don’t need it. I’ve been earning some, and if you want some ready money I’ll lend you twenty-five dollars.
“Affectionately,“Your son,“Jack.”
They were all aboard the yachtViking, one evening not long after—Henry Burns and Jack Harvey, the crew, Tom and Bob, and the Warren boys.
“Fellows,” said Harvey, “Henry’s got us all together to tell us a secret—something he’s discovered, he says. Come on, Henry, out with it.”
Henry Burns, holding one hand in his coat pocket, and looking as grave as though his communication was to be one of the greatest importance, turned to his companions, and said:
“I thought, because you were all such warm friends of Squire Brackett, you might like to know whether he was after that secret drawer in theViking, and whether he found the lobster-claw.”
The outburst of elation and surprise that followed assured Henry Burns he was not mistaken.
“Well, I’ve found out,” said Henry Burns. “You see, when we got the yacht back we saw the drawer on the floor, and the claw, too. That was Carleton’s work, of course. I didn’t think about the squire’s having the drawer out, till later. We were all so upset, you know.”
“Jack,” he continued, “do you remember our eating that lobster—the one that owned the claw we put into the drawer?”
“Why, yes, of course,” replied Harvey.
“And do you remember saying that you’d have eaten both claws if the one you left hadn’t been so big?”
“Why, yes, I remember that, too,” replied the puzzled Harvey.
“Well, now, which claw was it that you didn’t eat, and that we put into the drawer?” asked Henry Burns.
“The right one,” answered Harvey. “I remember breaking off the left one to eat because it was smaller.”
“That’s just as I remember it, too,” said Henry Burns. “Now look here.” He withdrew his hand from his pocket and produced the claw they had found on the cabin floor. A roar of laughter greeted its appearance.
It was the left claw of a lobster that Henry Burns held up to view.
THE END.
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLETHE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS(Trade Mark)By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTONEach, 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, per vol.$1.50The Little Colonel Stories.(Trade Mark)Illustrated.Being three “Little Colonel” stories in the Cosy Corner Series, “The Little Colonel,” “Two Little Knights of Kentucky,” and “The Giant Scissors,” put into a single volume.The Little Colonel’s House Party.(Trade Mark)Illustrated by Louis Meynell.The Little Colonel’s Holidays.(Trade Mark)Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman.The Little Colonel’s Hero.(Trade Mark)Illustrated by E. B. Barry.The Little Colonel at Boarding School.(Trade Mark)Illustrated by E. B. Barry.The Little Colonel in Arizona.(Trade Mark)Illustrated by E. B. Barry.The Little Colonel’s Christmas Vacation.(Trade Mark)The Little Colonel, Maid of Honour.(Trade Mark)Illustrated by E. B. Barry.Since the time of “Little Women,” no juvenile heroine has been better beloved of her child readers than Mrs. Johnston’s “Little Colonel.”The Little Colonel.(Trade-Mark)Two Little Knights of Kentucky.The Giant Scissors.A Special Holiday Edition of Mrs. Johnston’s most famous books.Each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $1.25New plates, handsomely illustrated, with eight full-page drawings in color.“There are no brighter or better stories for boys and girls than these.”—Chicago Record-Herald.“The books are as satisfactory to the small girls, who find them adorable, as for the mothers and librarians, who delight in their influence.”—Christian Register.These three volumes, boxed as a three-volume set to complete the library editions of The Little Colonel books, $3.75.In the Desert of Waiting:The Legend of Camelback Mountain.The Three Weavers:A Fairy Tale for Fathers and Mothers as Well as for Their Daughters.Keeping Tryst.Each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative$0.50Paper boards.35There has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of these three stories, which were originally included in three of the “Little Colonel” books, and the present editions, which are very charmingly gotten up, will be delightful and valued gift-books for both old and young.Joel: A Boy of Galilee.ByAnnie Fellows Johnston.Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman.New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little Colonel Books, 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the author’s best-known books, and which has been translated into many languages, the last being Italian.Asa Holmes;or, At the Cross-Roads.A sketch of Country Life and Country Humor. ByAnnie Fellows Johnston. With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery.Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top$1.00“‘Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads’ is the most delightful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long while. The lovable, cheerful, touching incidents, the descriptions of persons and things, are wonderfully true to nature.”—Boston Times.The Rival Campers;or, The Adventures of Henry Burns.ByRuel P. Smith.Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by A. B. Shute $1.50Here is a book which will grip and enthuse every boy reader. It is the story of a party of typical American lads, courageous, alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camping on an island off the Maine coast.“The best boys’ book since ‘Tom Sawyer.’”—San Francisco Examiner.“Henry Burns, the hero, is the ‘Tom Brown’ of America.”—N. Y. Sun.The Rival Campers Afloat;or, The Prize Yacht Viking.ByRuel P. Smith, author of “The Rival Campers.”Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated$1.50This book is a continuation of the adventures of “The Rival Campers” on their prize yachtViking. Every reader will be enthusiastic over the adventures of Henry Burns and his friends on their sailing trip. They have a splendid time, fishing, racing, and sailing, until an accidental collision results in a series of exciting adventures, culminating in a mysterious chase, the loss of their prize yacht, and its recapture by means of their old yacht,Surprise, which they raise from its watery grave.The Young Section-hand; or,The Adventures of Allan West. ByBurton E. Stevenson, author of “The Marathon Mystery,” etc.12mo, cloth, illustrated by L. J. Bridgman$1.50Mr. Stevenson’s hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance as a section-hand on a big Western railroad, and whose experiences are as real as they are thrilling.“It appeals to every boy of enterprising spirit, and at the same time teaches him some valuable lessons in honor, pluck, and perseverance.”—Cleveland Plain Dealer.The Young Train Despatcher.ByBurton E. Stevenson, author of “The Young Section-hand,” etc.Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated$1.50A new volume in the “Railroad Series,” in which the young section-hand is promoted to a train despatcher. Another branch of railroading is presented, in which the young hero has many chances to prove his manliness and courage in the exciting adventures which befall him in the discharge of his duty.Jack Lorimer.ByWinn Standish.Square 12mo, cloth decorative. Illustrated by A. B. Shute$1.50Jack Lorimer, whose adventures have for some time been one of the leading features of the Boston SundayHerald, is the popular favorite of fiction with the boys and girls of New England, and, now that Mr. Standish has made him the hero of his book, he will soon be a favorite throughout the country.Jack is a fine example of the all-around American high-school boy. He has the sturdy qualities boys admire, and his fondness for clean, honest sport of all kinds will strike a chord of sympathy among athletic youths.The Roses of Saint Elizabeth.By Jane Scott Woodruff, author of “The Little Christmas Shoe.”Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in color by Adelaide Everhart$1.00This is a charming little story of a child whose father was caretaker of the great castle of the Wartburg, where Saint Elizabeth once had her home, with a fairy-tale interwoven, in which the roses and the ivy in the castle yard tell to the child and her playmate quaint old legends of the saint and the castle.Gabriel and the Hour Book.By Evaleen Stein.Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by Adelaide Everhart$1.00Gabriel was a loving, patient, little French lad, who assisted the monks in the long ago days, when all the books were written and illuminated by hand, in the monasteries. It is a dear little story, and will appeal to every child who is fortunate enough to read it.The Enchanted Automobile.Translated from the French byMary J. Safford.Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by Edna M. Sawyer$1.00The enchanted automobile was sent by the fairy godmother of a lazy, discontented little prince and princess to take them to fairyland, where they might visit their old story-book favorites.Here they find that Sleeping Beauty has become a famously busy queen; Princess Charming keeps a jewelry shop; where she sells the jewels that drop from her lips; Hop-o’-My-Thumb is a farmer, too busy even to see the children, and Little Red Riding Hood has trained the wolf into a trick animal, who performs in the city squares.They learn the lesson that happy people are the busy people, and they return home cured of their discontent and laziness.Beautiful Joe’s Paradise;or, The Island of Brotherly Love. A sequel to “Beautiful Joe.” ByMarshall Saunders, author of “Beautiful Joe,” “For His Country,” etc. With fifteen full-page plates and many decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston Bull.One vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative$1.50“Will be immensely enjoyed by the boys and girls who read it.”—Pittsburg Gazette.“Miss Saunders has put life, humor, action, and tenderness into her story. The book deserves to be a favorite.”—Chicago Record-Herald.“This book revives the spirit of ‘Beautiful Joe’ capitally. It is fairly riotous with fun, and as a whole is about as unusual as anything in the animal book line that has seen the light. It is a book for juveniles—old and young.”—Philadelphia Item.’Tilda Jane.ByMarshall Saunders, author of “Beautiful Joe,” etc.One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth, decorative cover,$1.50“No more amusing and attractive child’s story has appeared for a long time than this quaint and curious recital of the adventures of that pitiful and charming little runaway.“It is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books that win and charm the reader, and I did not put it down until I had finished it—honest! And I am sure that every one, young or old, who reads will be proud and happy to make the acquaintance of the delicious waif.“I cannot think of any better book for children than this. I commend it unreservedly.”—Cyrus Townsend Brady.The Story of the Graveleys.ByMarshall Saunders, author of “Beautiful Joe’s Paradise,” “’Tilda Jane,” etc.Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by E. B. Barry$1.50Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a delightful New England family, of whose devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear. From the kindly, serene-souled grandmother to the buoyant madcap, Berty, these Graveleys are folk of fibre and blood—genuine human beings.PHYLLIS’ FIELD FRIENDS SERIESBy LENORE E. MULETSSix vols., cloth decorative, illustrated by Sophie Schneider. Sold separately, or as a set.Per volume$1.00Per set6.00Insect Stories.Stories of Little Animals.Flower Stories.Bird Stories.Tree Stories.Stories of Little Fishes.In this series of six little Nature books, it is the author’s intention so to present to the child reader the facts about each particular flower, insect, bird, or animal, in story form, as to make delightful reading. Classical legends, myths, poems, and songs are so introduced as to correlate fully with these lessons, to which the excellent illustrations are no little help.THE WOODRANGER TALESBy G. WALDO BROWNEThe Woodranger.The Young Gunbearer.The Hero of the Hills.With Rogers’ Rangers.Each 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, decorative cover, illustrated,per volume1.25Four vols., boxed, per set5.00“The Woodranger Tales,” like the “Pathfinder Tales” of J. Fenimore Cooper, combine historical information relating to early pioneer days in America with interesting adventures in the backwoods. Although the same characters are continued throughout the series, each book is complete in itself, and, while based strictly on historical facts, is an interesting and exciting tale of adventure.Born to the Blue.ByFlorence Kimball Russel.12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated$1.25The atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on every page of this delightful tale. The boy is the son of a captain of U. S. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation.The author is herself “of the army,” and knows every detail of the life. Her descriptions are accurate, which adds to the value and interest of the book.Pussy-Cat Town.ByMarion Ames Taggart.Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors$1.00“Pussy-Cat Town” is a most unusual, delightful cat story. Ban-Ban, a pure Maltese who belonged to Rob, Kiku-san, Lois’s beautiful snow-white pet, and their neighbors Bedelia the tortoise-shell, Madame Laura the widow, Wutz Butz the warrior, and wise old Tommy Traddles, were really and truly cats, and Miss Taggart has here explained the reason for their mysterious disappearance all one long summer.The Sandman:His Farm Stories. ByWilliam J. Hopkins. With fifty illustrations by Ada Clendenin Williamson.Large 12mo, decorative cover$1.50“An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very small children. It should be one of the most popular of the year’s books for reading to small children.”—Buffalo Express.“Mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who take the little ones to bed and rack their brains for stories will find this book a treasure.”—Cleveland Leader.The Sandman:More Farm Stories. ByWilliam J. Hopkins.Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated$1.50Mr. Hopkins’s first essay at bedtime stories has met with such approval that this second book of “Sandman” tales has been issued for scores of eager children. Life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable manner, and many a little one will hail the bedtime season as one of delight.
THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS(Trade Mark)
By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
Each, 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, per vol.$1.50
Being three “Little Colonel” stories in the Cosy Corner Series, “The Little Colonel,” “Two Little Knights of Kentucky,” and “The Giant Scissors,” put into a single volume.
Illustrated by Louis Meynell.
Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman.
Illustrated by E. B. Barry.
Illustrated by E. B. Barry.
Illustrated by E. B. Barry.
Illustrated by E. B. Barry.
Since the time of “Little Women,” no juvenile heroine has been better beloved of her child readers than Mrs. Johnston’s “Little Colonel.”
A Special Holiday Edition of Mrs. Johnston’s most famous books.
Each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $1.25
New plates, handsomely illustrated, with eight full-page drawings in color.
“There are no brighter or better stories for boys and girls than these.”—Chicago Record-Herald.
“The books are as satisfactory to the small girls, who find them adorable, as for the mothers and librarians, who delight in their influence.”—Christian Register.
These three volumes, boxed as a three-volume set to complete the library editions of The Little Colonel books, $3.75.
Each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative$0.50Paper boards.35
There has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of these three stories, which were originally included in three of the “Little Colonel” books, and the present editions, which are very charmingly gotten up, will be delightful and valued gift-books for both old and young.
New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little Colonel Books, 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the author’s best-known books, and which has been translated into many languages, the last being Italian.
Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top$1.00
“‘Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads’ is the most delightful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long while. The lovable, cheerful, touching incidents, the descriptions of persons and things, are wonderfully true to nature.”—Boston Times.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by A. B. Shute $1.50
Here is a book which will grip and enthuse every boy reader. It is the story of a party of typical American lads, courageous, alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camping on an island off the Maine coast.
“The best boys’ book since ‘Tom Sawyer.’”—San Francisco Examiner.
“Henry Burns, the hero, is the ‘Tom Brown’ of America.”—N. Y. Sun.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated$1.50
This book is a continuation of the adventures of “The Rival Campers” on their prize yachtViking. Every reader will be enthusiastic over the adventures of Henry Burns and his friends on their sailing trip. They have a splendid time, fishing, racing, and sailing, until an accidental collision results in a series of exciting adventures, culminating in a mysterious chase, the loss of their prize yacht, and its recapture by means of their old yacht,Surprise, which they raise from its watery grave.
12mo, cloth, illustrated by L. J. Bridgman$1.50
Mr. Stevenson’s hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance as a section-hand on a big Western railroad, and whose experiences are as real as they are thrilling.
“It appeals to every boy of enterprising spirit, and at the same time teaches him some valuable lessons in honor, pluck, and perseverance.”—Cleveland Plain Dealer.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated$1.50
A new volume in the “Railroad Series,” in which the young section-hand is promoted to a train despatcher. Another branch of railroading is presented, in which the young hero has many chances to prove his manliness and courage in the exciting adventures which befall him in the discharge of his duty.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative. Illustrated by A. B. Shute$1.50
Jack Lorimer, whose adventures have for some time been one of the leading features of the Boston SundayHerald, is the popular favorite of fiction with the boys and girls of New England, and, now that Mr. Standish has made him the hero of his book, he will soon be a favorite throughout the country.
Jack is a fine example of the all-around American high-school boy. He has the sturdy qualities boys admire, and his fondness for clean, honest sport of all kinds will strike a chord of sympathy among athletic youths.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in color by Adelaide Everhart$1.00
This is a charming little story of a child whose father was caretaker of the great castle of the Wartburg, where Saint Elizabeth once had her home, with a fairy-tale interwoven, in which the roses and the ivy in the castle yard tell to the child and her playmate quaint old legends of the saint and the castle.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by Adelaide Everhart$1.00
Gabriel was a loving, patient, little French lad, who assisted the monks in the long ago days, when all the books were written and illuminated by hand, in the monasteries. It is a dear little story, and will appeal to every child who is fortunate enough to read it.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by Edna M. Sawyer$1.00
The enchanted automobile was sent by the fairy godmother of a lazy, discontented little prince and princess to take them to fairyland, where they might visit their old story-book favorites.
Here they find that Sleeping Beauty has become a famously busy queen; Princess Charming keeps a jewelry shop; where she sells the jewels that drop from her lips; Hop-o’-My-Thumb is a farmer, too busy even to see the children, and Little Red Riding Hood has trained the wolf into a trick animal, who performs in the city squares.
They learn the lesson that happy people are the busy people, and they return home cured of their discontent and laziness.
One vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative$1.50
“Will be immensely enjoyed by the boys and girls who read it.”—Pittsburg Gazette.
“Miss Saunders has put life, humor, action, and tenderness into her story. The book deserves to be a favorite.”—Chicago Record-Herald.
“This book revives the spirit of ‘Beautiful Joe’ capitally. It is fairly riotous with fun, and as a whole is about as unusual as anything in the animal book line that has seen the light. It is a book for juveniles—old and young.”—Philadelphia Item.
One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth, decorative cover,$1.50
“No more amusing and attractive child’s story has appeared for a long time than this quaint and curious recital of the adventures of that pitiful and charming little runaway.
“It is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books that win and charm the reader, and I did not put it down until I had finished it—honest! And I am sure that every one, young or old, who reads will be proud and happy to make the acquaintance of the delicious waif.
“I cannot think of any better book for children than this. I commend it unreservedly.”—Cyrus Townsend Brady.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by E. B. Barry$1.50
Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a delightful New England family, of whose devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear. From the kindly, serene-souled grandmother to the buoyant madcap, Berty, these Graveleys are folk of fibre and blood—genuine human beings.
PHYLLIS’ FIELD FRIENDS SERIESBy LENORE E. MULETS
Six vols., cloth decorative, illustrated by Sophie Schneider. Sold separately, or as a set.
Per volume$1.00Per set6.00
In this series of six little Nature books, it is the author’s intention so to present to the child reader the facts about each particular flower, insect, bird, or animal, in story form, as to make delightful reading. Classical legends, myths, poems, and songs are so introduced as to correlate fully with these lessons, to which the excellent illustrations are no little help.
THE WOODRANGER TALESBy G. WALDO BROWNE
Each 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, decorative cover, illustrated,per volume1.25Four vols., boxed, per set5.00
“The Woodranger Tales,” like the “Pathfinder Tales” of J. Fenimore Cooper, combine historical information relating to early pioneer days in America with interesting adventures in the backwoods. Although the same characters are continued throughout the series, each book is complete in itself, and, while based strictly on historical facts, is an interesting and exciting tale of adventure.
12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated$1.25
The atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on every page of this delightful tale. The boy is the son of a captain of U. S. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation.
The author is herself “of the army,” and knows every detail of the life. Her descriptions are accurate, which adds to the value and interest of the book.
Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors$1.00
“Pussy-Cat Town” is a most unusual, delightful cat story. Ban-Ban, a pure Maltese who belonged to Rob, Kiku-san, Lois’s beautiful snow-white pet, and their neighbors Bedelia the tortoise-shell, Madame Laura the widow, Wutz Butz the warrior, and wise old Tommy Traddles, were really and truly cats, and Miss Taggart has here explained the reason for their mysterious disappearance all one long summer.
Large 12mo, decorative cover$1.50
“An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very small children. It should be one of the most popular of the year’s books for reading to small children.”—Buffalo Express.
“Mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who take the little ones to bed and rack their brains for stories will find this book a treasure.”—Cleveland Leader.
Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated$1.50
Mr. Hopkins’s first essay at bedtime stories has met with such approval that this second book of “Sandman” tales has been issued for scores of eager children. Life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable manner, and many a little one will hail the bedtime season as one of delight.