JED STARTS FOR HOME
Only for an instant did Jed Hopkins and Jack Welsh stand motionless there on the edge of the pit, staring down at the gruesome sight the burning cotton disclosed to them. Then Jed sprang erect, his lips compressed, caught up the rope, and rapidly made a noose in one end of it.
“I’ll go down,” he said. “I’m th’ lightest, an’ I guess you kin handle me all right. Stand well back from th’ edge an’ git a good hold. Let it play over th’ rock here where it’s smooth. Ready?”
“All right,” Jack answered, taking a turn of the rope around his arm and bracing himself for the weight.
Jed sat down at the edge of the pit, placed one foot in the noose he had made, tested it, and then swung himself off. Jack paid out the line slowly and carefully, so that it might not get beyond his control. At the end of a moment, the line slackened, and Jack, looking down into the pit, saw hiscompanion bending over the ghastly figure crushed against the floor.
“He’s dead,” Jed announced, after a short examination. “He’s mashed right in. That box must o’ caught him square on th’ breast. He never knowed what hit him.”
“Who is he?” asked Jack, in an awed whisper, and then he started violently back, as something dark and uncanny whirred past his face,—for Jack was not without his superstitions, and the surroundings were certainly ghostly enough to impress the strongest heart. As he looked up, he fancied he saw two eyes gleaming at him out of the darkness; again there was a whir of wings past the lantern, and then he laughed aloud, for he saw his spectral visitor was only a bat.
“What’s th’ matter?” queried Jed, looking up in surprise. “I don’t see nothin’ t’ laugh at.”
“There’s a lot o’ bats up here,” explained Jack, a little sheepishly. “I was jest gittin’ ready t’ run—I thought they was banshees. Do you know who th’ pore feller is?”
Jed struck a match and examined the dead man’s face.
“No, I don’t know him,” he said at last. "An’ yet his face seems sort o’ familiar, too. Why, yes; it’s a feller who’s been workin’ around our stables. By gum! It’s th’ one thet druv th’ wagon! We’ve been lookin’ fer his corpse everywhere; an’ when we didn’t find it, we thought he was incahoots with th’ robbers an’ had skipped out with ’em! Now how do you suppose he got here?"
Jack, of course, could find no answer to the question, but stood staring stupidly down until Jed, by a mighty effort, rolled the box to one side, and passed the noose beneath the dead man’s arms.
“All right,” Jed called. “I think you kin lift him—he ain’t very heavy.”
And Jack slowly pulled the body up, hand over hand, the muscles he had acquired by long years of work on section standing him in good stead.
Then, as the ghastly face, hanging limply back, came within the circle of light cast by his lantern, he saw it clearly, and in the shock it gave him almost let the body fall.
“Good God!” he muttered. “Good God!” and stared down, fascinated, into the half-closed, lustreless eyes.
For the dead man was Dan Nolan.
Just how he had met death there at the bottom of that pit was never certainly known. Perhaps he had been sent down ahead to steady the chest in its descent and cast loose the ropes, and the chest had slipped or got beyond control of the men who were lowering it and crashed down upon him. Or perhaps he himself, helping to lower it, had lost his balance and fallen, only to be crushed by it as it, too, fell. His companions, terrified, no doubt, by the tragedy, had waited only to assurethemselves that he was dead, and had then drawn up the ropes and fled.
Some of those who knew the story of Nolan’s treachery to the robbers, believed that it was not an accident at all, but that his companions had deliberately used this method of avenging themselves and getting rid of him, now that his usefulness to them was past. Whether by accident or design, certain it was that Nolan had met his end miserably at the very place where his captors had intended him to die.
As soon as Jed was got out of the pit, help was summoned, for the box was far too heavy for two men to raise. The news that it had been found spread like wildfire, and a regular procession started for the mouth of the old mine to see it recovered. Among them was the paymaster, and, as soon as the box was hauled up, he produced a key from his pocket, turned it in the lock, and threw back the lid.
“Good!” he said. “They didn’t stop to open it. Knew they ran the risk of being held up and searched, and didn’t want any of the stuff to be found on them. They certainly had every reason to believe that it was safely planted here.”
“They didn’t have time t’ open it,” said Jed. "That lock was specially made—see how it throws three bolts instead o’ one. Nobody could ’a’ picked it. Th’ only way they could ’a’ got that chest open was t’ blow it, like a safe, an’ I don’tsuppose they was fixed fer that kind o’ work, comin’, as they did, straight from th’ pen."
“Or perhaps they was scared away by Nolan’s death,” added Jack. “I certainly wouldn’t ’a’ cared t’ stay here arter that!”
“Well, whatever the cause, the money’s here,” said the paymaster, and closed the lid again and locked it.
The evening shadows were lengthening along the path as Jack climbed up to the little house back of the railroad yards, and softly opened the door and entered. Mary was in the kitchen, and, at the sound of his step, turned toward him, her face very pale, her eyes asking the question her lips did not dare to utter. Jack saw the question and understood.
“He’s dead,” he said, briefly.
“Oh, Jack, not that!” cried Mary, her face gray with horror. “Not that! I didn’t mean it! God knows I didn’t mean it!”
“Don’t worry. ’Twasn’t me killed him. T knowed I couldn’t do it. But I’d ’a’ took him back to th’ pen, myself, an’ waited t’ see him locked up.”
Mary drew a deep breath of relief, and the colour returned to her face again.
“Thank God!” she said. “I was prayin’ all night, Jack, that you wouldn’t find him; I was so worrited t’ think that I’d let you go like that! And yet he wasn’t no better than a snake!”
“Well, he’s gittin’ his deserts now,” and Jack told her the story of the finding of the body.
Mary listened to the end without offering to interrupt.
“’Twas God’s judgment, Jack,” she said, solemnly, when he had finished. “But,” she added, with a quick return of housewifely instinct, “you must be half-starved.”
“Iampurty hungry, an’ that’s a fact,” he admitted. “What’s that you’ve got on th’ stove? It smells mighty good,” and he sniffed appreciatively.
“It’s some chicken broth fer Allan. Would y’ like some?”
“A good thick beefsteak ’d be more in my line. How is th’ boy?”
“Comin’ on nicely,” answered Mary, as she hurried to the pantry. She reappeared in a moment, bringing back with her just the sort of steak Jack was thinking of.
He stared at it in astonishment.
“What are you,” he demanded, “a witch? Do you jest wave your wand an’ make things happen?”
“Oh, no,” laughed Mary. “I bought it this mornin’,” and the steak was soon sizzling temptingly in a skillet.
“And you’re sure th’ boy’s comin’ along all right?” he asked.
“Th’ docther says he kin set up day arter t’-morrer.He’s got his side in a plaster cast, an’ says he’ll keep it there till th’ ribs knit. He says that won’t take long.”
The doctor, as will be seen, counted on Allan’s perfect health and vigorous constitution; nor did he count in vain, for two days later he permitted the patient to rise from the bed, helped him carefully to descend the stairs, and saw him comfortably installed in a great padded chair by the front window, whence he could look down over the busy yards.
“Why, it seems like old times,” he said, smiling, as he sank back into the chair. “It isn’t so very long ago that I was sitting here with a bullet-hole through me.”
“You certainly have had your share,” agreed the doctor. “It’s just about two years since I cut that bullet out from under your shoulder-blade. What did you do with it?”
“Here it is,” said Mary, and taking a small bottle from the mantelpiece, she showed the little piece of flattened lead inside.
“You’ll get over this a good deal quicker,” went on the doctor, reassuringly. “You may walk around a little, only be careful to move slowly and not to bring any strain or wrench upon the side. I’ll look in once in awhile and make sure you’re getting along all right,” and with that he was gone.
At the gate, Allan saw him meet a mail-carrier,and pause to answer a question which the carrier put to him. Then he jumped into his buggy, and drove away, while the carrier mounted to the front door and knocked.
“I’ve got a registered letter here for John Welsh,” he said, when Mary opened the door. “Is he here?”
“Here I am,” said Jack, “but th’ letter must be fer some other John Welsh. Where’s it from?”
“It’s from Coalville.”
“Then it’s fer you, Jack,” said Mary, quickly.
“All right; sign for it here,” said the carrier, and presented the card and book.
Jack signed silently, and waited till the door closed behind the carrier.
“I don’t believe it’s fer me,” he said. “Who’d be sendin’ me a registered letter?”
“The best way to find out is to open it,” suggested Allan.
“Here, you open it,” said Jack, “an’ if it ain’t fer me, shut it up agin. I’ve heerd o’ people bein’ sent t’ jail fer openin’ letters that didn’t belong to ’em.”
“Very well,” assented Allan, and tore open the envelope and drew out the letter.
Jack noticed how his face changed and his hands trembled as he glanced through it.
“Put it back, boy,” he cried. “I knowed it wasn’t fer me. Put it back!”
“Yes, itisfor you, Jack,” said Allan, looking up, his eyes bright with tears. Listen:
“‘Mr. John Welsh,“’Wadsworth, Ohio.
“’Dear Sir:—As you are no doubt aware, the Coalville Coal Company offered a reward of five thousand dollars for the recovery of the chest, with contents intact, which was stolen on the night of the 10th inst. Mr. Jed Hopkins and yourself succeeded in finding the chest, and an examination proved the contents to be undisturbed. It is with great pleasure, therefore, that I enclose the company’s check for twenty-five hundred dollars, your share of the reward, and the company desires also to thank you for the great service which you assisted in rendering it. Please acknowledge receipt of check.
“Very truly yours,“‘S. R. Alderson,“’President.’”
For a moment, Jack stood staring at Allan, incapable of utterance; then, by a mighty effort, he pulled himself together.
“But that ain’t right!” he protested, violently. “I didn’t find th’ chest! I didn’t do nothin’! It was Jed Hopkins. I jest went along! I didn’t do a blame thing! I won’t take it!”
Mary looked at him, her face alight with love and pride.
“That’s right, Jack!” she cried. “We don’t want nothin we hain’t earned honest—we won’t wrong nobody in this world!”
Allan sat looking at the slip of pink paper he held between his fingers.
“I don’t know,” he said, slowly. “It seems to me that you are certainly entitled to a portion of the reward—perhaps not to half of it. You surely helped some.”
“If I did, I don’t remember it,” said Jack. “Besides—”
A knock at the door interrupted him. Mary opened it, to find a tall, lean figure standing on the threshold.
“Why, it’s Jed Hopkins!” cried Allan. “Come in! Come in!”
“Sure I will,” laughed Jed, stooping a little as he entered the door. “An’ how is the kid?”
“The kid’s first-rate,” Allan assured him, clasping warmly the great palm held out to him. “Mary and Jack,” he went on, turning to the others, “this is the man who saved my life. He was on fire himself and the flames were all about him, but he stopped long enough to get hold of me and pull me out.”
“Oh, shet up!” protested Jed. “I didn’t stop at all. I jest sort o’ hooked on to you as I was goin’ past.”
Mary came up to him, all her heart in her face.
“We can’t thank you,” she said. "They ain’tno use in our tryin’ t’ do that. But if that boy’d died like that—it—it—it would ’a’ broke our hearts."
“An’ this is th’ feller they think I’ll rob,” broke in Jack.
“Rob?” repeated Jed, looking at him.
“Do ye think fer a minute,” cried Jack, fiercely, “I’d take one penny o’ that reward? Not me! I didn’t earn it! Here!” and he seized the check from Allan’s fingers and crushed it into Jed’s hand. “Take it. It’s yourn.”
Jed, his face very red, stared from the check to Jack and from Jack to the check. Then a queer twinkle came into his eye.
“Oh, all right,” he said, “if you feel that way.”
“I do,” said Jack, “an’ so does Mary,” and he watched until Jed had folded the check and placed it in his pocket. “Now,” he went on, with a sigh of relief, “I feel better. O’ course you’ll stay t’ supper?”
“O’ course I will,” answered Jed, promptly, and Mary bustled away to prepare the meal.
And when it was served, half an hour later, Jed was given the place of honour between Jack and Allan, with Mamie and Mary across from him.
“Well,” he said, looking around at the smoking dishes, "this reminds me of old times, afore I pulled up stakes an’ went West. I was born in New Hampshire, an’ didn’t know when I was welloff, an’ so run away like so many fool boys do. I ain’t had a home since—an’ I’ve never had th’ nerve t’ go back thar an’ face my old mother that I deserted like that. You see, I jest want t’ show you what a good-fer-nothin’ skunk I am."
“You’ve got a home right here, if you want it,” said Mary, quickly, out of the depths of her heart.
Jed cleared his throat once or twice before he found the voice to answer.
“Mrs. Welsh,” he said, “I’m a-goin’ back now, jest as fast as a train kin take me. I wanted t’ come over fust an’ say good-bye t’ th’ kid. He’s clear grit. But I won’t never fergit them words o’ yours.”
At last he pushed his chair back from the table and rose.
“Th’ best meal I’ve eat in twenty year,” he said. “But I’ve got t’ go—my train starts at six-ten. How much do I owe you?”
“What!” cried Jack, his eyes flashing. “Owe us? Ye don’t owe us a cent!”
“Do you take me fer a dead beat!” shouted Jed. “I’m a-goin’ t’ pay fer that meal. Here,” he cried, and fillped a folded bit of pink paper out upon the table, “take that. It’s wuth it.”
Allan alone understood, and he began to smile, though his eyes were wet.
“You infernal galoot,” went on Jed, excitedly, "did you suppose fer a minute I’d take thatmoney? I was never so near lickin’ a man in my life! Take it, or by George, I’ll lick you yet!"
And with that, he jumped on Mamie, caught her up, kissed her, and fairly ran from the house.
THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER
But those were happy hearts he left behind him, and sweet were the dreams they dreamed that night. Mary, the summation and perfect example of Irish housewives, dreamed of a little home in the suburbs, with an orchard and garden, and a yard for chickens, and a house for the cow, and a pen for the pigs, where she could be busy and happy all day long, working for her loved ones. Jack dreamed of a new gown his wife should have, and of new dresses for Mamie, and some new books for Allan, and a new pipe for himself,—for Jack had only a limited idea of what twenty-five hundred dollars would accomplish. And Allan dreamed of the day when he, too, could come in as Jed Hopkins had done, and leave behind him a princely gift.
“Jack,” said Mary, at the table next morning, the memory of her dream still strong upon her, “I’ve been wishin’ we could move t’ some little place where we could kape chickens an’ a cow.”
“I wish so, too, Mary,” said Jack. “Mebbe some day we kin.”
“It ’d be jest th’ place fer Mamie,—she don’t git enough outdoors.”
“Why, what’s th’ matter with her?” asked Jack, with a quick glance at the child.
“Nothin’ at all,” Mary hastened to assure him; “but she ought t’ have a big yard t’ play in—an’ th’ tracks is mighty dangerous.”
“Yes, they is,” Jack agreed. “I wish we could git away from them.”
“Well, I’ll look around,” said Mary, and wisely let the subject drop there.
Shedidlook around, and to such good purpose that two days later, which was Sunday, she led Jack triumphantly to a little house standing back from the road in a grove of trees, just outside the city limits.
“I wanted ye to look at it,” she said. “I thought mebbe you’d like t’ live here.”
From the triumphant way in which she showed him about the place, and pointed out its beauties and advantages, it was quite evident that her own mind was made up. And, indeed, it was a perfect love of a place. The house was well-built and contained eight rooms—just the right number; the yard in front was shaded by graceful maples, and flanked on the left by a hedge of lilac. Behind it was a milk-house, built of brick, and with a long stone trough at the bottom, through which cold, pure water from a near-by spring was always flowing. Then there was a garden of nearly halfan acre; an orchard containing more than a hundred trees, and outbuildings—just such outbuildings as Mary had always longed for, roomy and dry and substantial. Nearly an hour was consumed in the inspection, and finally they sat down together on the steps leading up to the front porch.
“It’s a mighty nice place,” said Jack. “There can’t be no mistake about that.”
“An’ it’s fer sale,” said Mary. “Fer sale cheap.”
“Well, he’ll be a lucky man what gits it.”
“Jack,” said Mary, with sudden intensity, “you kin be that man—all you have t’ do is to write your name acrost th’ back of that little slip o’ pink paper an’ give it t’ me. T’-morrer I’ll bring you th’ deed fer this place, an’ we’ll move in jest as soon as I kin git it cleaned up.”
Jack looked about him and hesitated.
“I wanted you t’ have a new dress, Mary,” he said at last. “A silk one, what shines an’ rustles when ye walk—like Mrs. Maroney’s.”
“What do I keer fer a silk dress?” demanded Mary, fiercely. “Not that!” and she snapped her fingers. “I got plenty o’ duds. But a home like this, Jack,—I want a home like this!”
There was an appeal in her voice there was no resisting, even had Jack felt inclined to resist, which he did not in the least. He took from his pocket the slip of pink paper, now a little soiled, and from the other the stump of a lead pencil.Slowly and painfully he wrote his name, then handed the check to Mary.
“There you are,” he said. “An’ I’m glad t’ do it, darlint. Fer this place suits me, too.”
And a pair of red-birds in the lilac hedge were astonished and somewhat scandalized to see the woman, who had been sitting quietly enough, fling herself upon him and hug him until he begged for mercy.
Mamie had remained at home to entertain Allan, which she did by getting him to read to her. She had grown to like Jean Valjean, too, though she preferred the thrilling portions of the story to the quieter ones which told of Bishop Welcome. This time she chose to hear again of Jean Valjean’s flight across Paris with Cosette—how she shivered when he allowed that piece of money to rattle on the floor, or when, looking backward, he saw the police following him through the night; how she shuddered when he found himself trapped in that blind alley, hemmed in by lofty walls, where all seemed lost; and then the horrors of the hours that followed—But once Cosette was stowed safely away in the hut of the old, lame gardener, the curly head began to nod, and Allan, looking up at last from his reading, saw that she had gone to sleep.
He laid his book aside, and sat for a long time looking down over the yards, busy even on Sunday;for the work of a great railroad never ceases, day or night, from year end to year end. He thought of the evening, nearly three years agone, when he had first crossed the yards by Jack Welsh’s side, a homeless boy, who was soon to find a home indeed. How many times he had crossed them since! How many times—
A man was crossing them now, a well-dressed, well-set-up man, whom, even at that distance, the boy knew perfectly. It was Mr. Schofield, who had proved himself so true a friend. Allan, as he came nearer, waved at him from the window, pleased at the chance for even a distant greeting; but instead of passing by, the trainmaster entered the gate and mounted toward the house. Allan had the door open in a moment.
“Why, hello,” said the trainmaster, shaking his outstretched hand warmly. “Are you as spry as all this? You’ll soon be able to report for duty.”
“I can report to-morrow, if you need me, sir,” Allan answered. “I can’t indulge in any athletics, yet, but I can work a key all right. Besides, I’m tired of sitting around doing nothing.”
“Well, we’ll say Thursday,” said Mr. Schofield. “I can manage to worry along without you till then.”
“I’ll be on hand Thursday morning,” Allan promised.
“Oh, I don’t want you in the morning—you’llreport at eleven at night for the third trick, east end.”
“Why,” stammered Allan, his lips trembling, “why, do you mean—”
“I mean you’re a regular dispatcher,” explained the trainmaster, briefly. “Nothing extraordinary about it at all. Mr. Heywood has been made general manager, with headquarters at Cincinnati, so we all take a step up.”
“Then you’re—”
“Yes, I’m superintendent. Look about the same, don’t I?”
Allan held out his hands.
“I’m glad,” he said. “And I know one thing—there’s not a road on earth that’s got a better one!”
The doctor looked rather grave when Allan told him he was going to work Thursday night, but really there was little danger so long as the boy was careful to avoid strain on the injured side. The plaster cast had been removed, and in its place had been substituted by a broad leather bandage, drawn so tightly about the chest as to prevent all movement of the ribs. That was to stay there until the injury was quite healed. But, aside from the discomfort of this bandage, the boy was in no pain, he had had no fever after the second day; and, despite the fiery protests of Jack and Mary,the doctor finally consented that Allan should go to work as he had promised.
“T’ think of a boy with two broke ribs in his body a-goin’ t’ work—an’ at sech a time o’ night!” fumed Mary, as she packed his lunch-basket for him. “But a railroad ain’t got no feelin’s. All it wants is t’ work a man till he’s played out an’ done fer, an’ then throw him away like an old glove.”
“Maybe I can get a job as crossing watchman when that time comes,” laughed Allan. “I ought to be good for a few years yet, anyway.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me a bit t’ be follerin’ yer coffin a week from now,” declared Mary, darkly; but, just the same, it would have surprised her very much.
Allan laughed again, as he took up his lunch-basket and started across the yards. He was a little early, but he wanted to spend an extra five or ten minutes going over the train-orders, to make sure that he understood them thoroughly. As he approached the station, he saw two carriages drive up. A number of young men and women got out of them—they had evidently been packed in pretty tight—and gathered in a voluble group on the platform, evidently waiting for the east-bound flyer, which was almost due.
Allan, passing quite near, suddenly found himself looking into the blue eyes of Betty Heywood. Instinctively he raised his hat.
“Why, how do you do,” she said, and held out her hand in the old, friendly manner. “I hear you’ve been distinguishing yourself again.”
“Just blundering into trouble,” he answered, smiling. “Some people are always doing that, you know.”
“Well, that’s better than running away from it—some people do that, too.”
“Oh, yes,” he agreed, and then stopped. He found it strangely difficult to talk to her with all these friends about her. If they were only alone together—
“I’m going away to school,” she went on, seemingly not noticing his shyness.
“Then you’ll be gone a long time?”
“Oh, I’m never coming back to Wadsworth—that is to live. You see, we’re moving to Cincinnati, where papa will have his headquarters. But, of course,” she added, “I shall often come back to see my friends. Oh, there’s my train! Good-bye!” and she held out her hand again.
“Good-bye,” said Allan; then, not trusting himself to speak, he turned hastily away and mounted the stairs to the office.
But he carried a sweet thought warm against his heart. Part of the duty of his first trick would be to guard Betty Heywood from harm, as the train which bore her sped eastward through the night.
And here this tale must end. Perhaps, some day, the story will be told of how Allan West fulfilled the duties of his new position; of the trials he underwent and the triumphs he achieved; of how he made new friends, yes, and new enemies, as every man must who plays a man’s part in the world; and of how, finally, he won great happiness in the days when the boys in cab, and caboose, and section-shanty loved to refer to him, with shining eyes and smiling lips, as “The young trainmaster; the best in the country—and a true friend to us!”
THE END.
Selections fromL. C. Page & Company’sBooks for Young People
THE BLUE BONNET SERIES
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volumeThe seven volumes, boxed as a set
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A TEXAS BLUE BONNETByCaroline E. Jacobs.
BLUE BONNET’S RANCH PARTYByCaroline E. Jacobs and Edyth Ellerbeck Read.
BLUE BONNET IN BOSTONByCaroline E. Jacobs and Lela Horn Richards.
BLUE BONNET KEEPS HOUSEByCaroline E. Jacobs and Lela Horn Richards.
BLUE BONNET—DÉBUTANTEByLela Horn Richards.
BLUE BONNET OF THE SEVEN STARSByLela Horn Richards.
BLUE BONNET’S FAMILYByLela Horn Richards.
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THE HENRIETTA SERIES
ByLela Horn Richards
Each one volume, 12mo, illustrated
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ONLY HENRIETTA
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HENRIETTA’S INHERITANCE
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STORIES BY I. M. B. OF K.
Each one volume, 12mo, illustrated
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THE YOUNG KNIGHT
The clash of broad-sword on buckler, the twanging of bow-strings and the cracking of spears splintered by whirling maces resound through this stirring tale of knightly daring-do.
THE YOUNG CAVALIERS
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THE KING’S MINSTREL
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THE BOYS’ STORY OF THE RAILROAD SERIES
ByBurton E. Stevenson
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated,
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THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND;Or, The Adventures of Allan West.
“The whole range of section railroading is covered in the story.”—Chicago Post.
THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER
“A vivacious account of the varied and often hazardous nature of railroad life.”—Congregationalist.
THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER
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THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY SERIES
Of Worth While Classics for Boys and Girls
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THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY
ByW. H. Davenport Adams.
THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS
ByC. M. Yonge.
ERLING THE BOLD
ByR. M. Ballantyne.
WINNING HIS KNIGHTHOOD;Or, The Adventures of Raoulf de Gyssage.
ByH. Turing Bruce.
“Tales which ring to the clanking of armour, tales of marches and counter-marches, tales of wars, but tales which bring peace; a peace and contentment in the knowledge that right, even in the darkest times, has survived and conquered.”—Portland Evening Express.
BARBARA WINTHROP SERIES
ByHelen Katherine Broughall
Each one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated
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BARBARA WINTHROP AT BOARDING SCHOOLBARBARA WINTHROP AT CAMPBARBARA WINTHROP: GRADUATEBARBARA WINTHROP ABROAD
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DOCTOR’S LITTLE GIRL SERIES
ByMarion Ames Taggart
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THE DOCTOR’S LITTLE GIRL
“A charming story of the ups and downs of the life of a dear little maid.”—The Churchman.
SWEET NANCY:The Further Adventures of the Doctor’s Little Girl.
“Just the sort of book to amuse, while its influence cannot but be elevating.”—New York Sun.
NANCY, THE DOCTOR’S LITTLE PARTNER
“The story is sweet and fascinating, such as many girls of wholesome tastes will enjoy.”—Springfield Union.
NANCY PORTER’S OPPORTUNITY
“Nancy shows throughout that she is a splendid young woman, with plenty of pluck.”—Boston Globe.
NANCY AND THE COGGS TWINS
“The story is refreshing.”—New York Sun.
THE PEGGY RAYMOND SERIES
ByHarriet Lummis Smith
Each one volume, cloth, decorative, 12mo, illustrated, per volume
$1.75
PEGGY RAYMOND’S SUCCESS;Or, The Girls of Friendly Terrace.
“It is a book that cheers, that inspires to higher thinking; it knits hearts; it unfolds neighborhood plans in a way that makes one tingle to try carrying them out, and most of all it proves that in daily life, threads of wonderful issues are being woven in with what appears the most ordinary of material, but which in the end brings results stranger than the most thrilling fiction.”—Belle Kellogg Towne in The Young People’s Weekly, Chicago.
PEGGY RAYMOND’S VACATION
“It is a clean, wholesome, hearty story, well told and full of incident. It carries one through experiences that hearten and brighten the day.”—Utica, N. Y., Observer.
PEGGY RAYMOND’S SCHOOL DAYS
“It is a bright, entertaining story, with happy girls, good times, natural development, and a gentle earnestness of general tone.”—The Christian Register, Boston.
PEGGY RAYMOND’S FRIENDLY TERRACE QUARTETTE
“The story is told in easy and entertaining style and is a most delightful narrative, especially for young people. It will also make the older readers feel younger, for while reading it they will surely live again in the days of their youth.”—Troy Budget.
PEGGY RAYMOND’S WAY
“The author has again produced a story that is replete with wholesome incidents and makes Peggy more lovable than ever as a companion and leader.”—World of Books.
FAMOUS LEADERS SERIES
ByCharles H. L. Johnston
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per volume (unless otherwise stated)
$2.00
FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS
“More of such books should be written, books that acquaint young readers with historical personages in a pleasant, informal way.”—New York Sun.
FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS
“Mr. Johnston has done faithful work in this volume, and his relation of battles, sieges and struggles of these famous Indians with the whites for the possession of America is a worthy addition to United States History.”—New York Marine Journal.
FAMOUS SCOUTS
“It is the kind of a book that will have a great fascination for boys and young men.”—New London Day.
FAMOUS PRIVATEERSMEN AND ADVENTURERS OF THE SEA
“The tales are more than merely interesting; they are entrancing, stirring the blood with thrilling force.”—Pittsburgh Post.
FAMOUS FRONTIERSMEN AND HEROES OF THE BORDER
“The accounts are not only authentic, but distinctly readable, making a book of wide appeal to all who love the history of actual adventure.”—Cleveland Leader.
FAMOUS DISCOVERERS AND EXPLORERS OF AMERICA
“The book is an epitome of some of the wildest and bravest adventures of which the world has known.”—Brooklyn Daily Eagle.
FAMOUS GENERALS OF THE GREAT WAR
Who Led the United States and Her Allies to a Glorious Victory.
“The pages of this book have the charm of romance without its unreality. The book illuminates, with life-like portraits, the history of the World War.”—Rochester Post Express.
FAMOUS AMERICAN ATHLETES OF TODAY