CHAPTER XXVI.THE AUCTION SALE.My father was very unhappy, and my mother was afraid he would again resort to the cup for solace in his misfortune. I do not know what she said to him; but he treated her very tenderly, and never was a woman more devoted than she was during this threatening misfortune. My father was again a poor man. All that he had of worldly goods was to be stripped from him to satisfy the malice of his hard creditor. He was too proud to apply to Major Toppleton for assistance, believing that he would have nothing to do with property on the other side of the lake.I continued to run the dummy, and was so happy as to keep on the right side of the major, his son, and the students. Before the expiration of the legal notice, my father hired a small house in Middleport,and we moved into it. It was only a hovel, compared with the neat and comfortable dwelling we had occupied in Centreport, and the change was depressing to all the members of the family. My father’s place was advertised to be sold, and as the day—which looked like a fatal one to us—drew near, we were all very sad and nervous. Nothing had yet been heard of Christy; and the case was a plain one. The thousand dollars saved from the earnings of the debtor was to be sacrificed. No man in Centreport, however much he wanted the house, would dare to bid upon it.My father desired to attend the sale, perhaps hopeful that his presence might induce some friend of other days to bid a little more for the place. My mother did not wish to have him attend the auction; but as he insisted, she desired that I should go with him. I had no wish to be present at the humiliating spectacle, or to endure the sneers and the jeers of the Centreporters; but I decided to go, for my presence might be some restraint upon my father, if his misfortunes tempted him to drink again. I applied to Major Toppleton for leave of absence formy father and myself on the day of the sale. My father had engaged a man to take his place, and Faxon could now run the dummy.“What’s going on over there?” asked the major, after he had consented to the absence of both of us.“My father’s place is to be sold at auction. Colonel Wimpleton has foreclosed the mortgage,” I replied.“How much has your father paid on the house?”“He paid a thousand dollars down; and the mortgage is for two thousand. He would have paid the note when it was due, but his money was stolen from him.”“I remember about that,” added the major, musing. “Will the place bring enough at auction to enable your father to get back the thousand dollars he paid?”“No, sir; we don’t expect it will bring anything over the mortgage. Colonel Wimpleton means to punish my father by ruining him, and none of the Centreport people will dare to bid on the place.”He asked me several questions more, and I told him as well as I could how the matter stood. Iwas hoping most earnestly that he would offer to advance the money to pay off the mortgage; but just as my expectations reached the highest pitch, a gentleman interrupted the conversation, and the major went off with him in a few moments, having apparently forgotten all about the subject. My hopes were dashed down. I conveyed all the students out to Sandy Beach in the dummy that afternoon, and brought them back; but I was so absorbed in our family affairs that I hardly knew what I was doing.At one o’clock the next day, I went over to Centreport with father to attend the sale. He was very nervous, and I was hardly less so. At the appointed time, a large collection of people gathered around the house. A red flag was flying on the fence, and all the company seemed as jovial as if they were assembled for a picnic, rather than to complete the ruin of my poor father. Hardly any one spoke to us; but I saw many who appeared to be talking about us, and enjoying the misery we experienced at the prospect of seeing our beloved home pass into other hands.Colonel Wimpleton was there, and so was Waddie. Both of them seemed to be very happy, and both of them stared at us as though we had no right to set foot on the sacred soil of Centreport. Others imitated their illustrious example, and we were made as uncomfortable as possible. In our hearing, and evidently for our benefit, a couple of men discussed their proposed bids, one declaring that he would go as high as fifteen dollars, while the other would not be willing to take the place at so high a figure. Finally, the colonel, after passing us a dozen times, halted before my father.“I suppose you have come over to bid on the place, Ralph,” said he.“No, sir; I have nothing to back my bid with,” replied my father, meekly.“You had better bid; I don’t think it will bring more than fifteen or twenty dollars over the mortgage,” chuckled the magnate.“It ought to bring fifteen hundred,” added my father. “I was offered that for it once.”“You should have taken it. Real estate is very much depressed in the market.”“I should think it was; and I’m afraid Centreport is going down,” answered my father, with a faint smile.“Going down!” exclaimed the great man, stung by the reflection. “Any other piece of property in Centreport would sell a hundred per cent. higher than this.”“I suppose so!” ejaculated my poor father, fully understanding the reason why his place was to be sacrificed.The auctioneer, who had mounted the steps of the front door, interrupted the conversation. He stated that he was about to sell all the right, title, and interest which Ralph Penniman had in the estate at twelve o’clock on a certain day, described the mortgage, and called for a bid.“Twenty-five cents,” said a colored man in the crowd.The audience gave way to a hearty burst of laughter at the richness of the bid.“Thirty cents,” added Colonel Wimpleton, as soon as the noise had subsided.The auctioneer dwelt on it for a moment, andthen the colored man advanced to thirty-one cents. By this time it was clear to us that these proceedings were a farce, intended to torment my father. I had never endured agonies more keen than those which followed these ridiculous bids, as I became conscious that my father was the butt of the company’s derision. The colonel, more liberal than the negro, went up to thirty-five cents; whereupon the latter advanced another cent, amid the laughter and jeers of the assembly. Thus it continued for some time, the colored man, who had doubtless been engaged to play his part, going up one cent and the great man four. Others occasionally bid a cent or a half-cent more; and half an hour was consumed in windy eloquence by the auctioneer, and in cent and half-cent bids, before the offer reached a dollar.“One dollar and five cents,” said Colonel Wimpleton, at this point.“One dollar and six cents,” promptly responded the negro.“One dollar and six cents is bid for this very desirable estate,” added the auctioneer. “Consider, gentlemen, the value of this property, and the circumstancesunder which it is sold. Every dollar you bid goes into the pocket of the honest and hard-working mortgagor.”“One dollar and ten cents,” said the colonel, as if moved by this appeal.“Dollar ’leven,” added the negro.“Consider, gentlemen, the situation of the unfortunate man whose interest in this property I am selling.”“Dollar fifteen,” said the colonel.“Dollar fifteen and a half,” persisted the negro, amid roars of laughter.“One thousand dollars,” said some one in the rear of the crowd, in a loud, clear tone.If the explosion of the honest skipper’s canal boat, which had been the indirect cause of the present gathering, had taken place in the midst of the crowd, it could not have produced greater amazement and consternation than the liberal bid of the gentleman on the outskirts of the assemblage. It was a bombshell of the first magnitude which burst upon the hilarious people of Centreport, met, as it seemed to me, for the sole purpose of sacrificing my poor father. I recognized the voice of the bidder.It was Major Toppleton.I had not seen him before. I did not know he was present. I afterwards learned that he arrived only a moment before he made the bid, and only had time to perceive the nature of the farce which was transpiring before he turned it into a tragedy.“Dollar fifteen and a half,” repeated the auctioneer, so startled that he chose not to take the astounding bid of the magnate of Middleport.“I bid one thousand dollars,” shouted Major Toppleton, angrily, as he forced his way through the crowd to the foot of the steps where the auctioneer stood.“One thousand dollars is bid,” said the auctioneer, reluctantly.I looked at Colonel Wimpleton, who stood near me. His face was red, and his portly frame quaked with angry emotions. My father’s property in the house was saved. We looked at each other, and smiled our gratitude.“Toppleton must not have the property,” said Colonel Wimpleton to his lawyer, who stood next to him, while his teeth actually grated with thesavage ire which shook his frame. “He will put a nuisance under my very nose. Eleven hundred,” gasped the great man of Centreport, with frantic energy; and he was so furious at the interference of the major that I do not think he knew what he was about.“Twelve hundred,” added Major Toppleton, quietly, now that this bid had been taken.“Thirteen,” hoarsely called the colonel.“Fourteen.”“Fifteen.”The crowd stood with their mouths wide open, waiting the issue with breathless eagerness. The auctioneer repeated the bids as he would have pronounced the successive sentences of his own death warrant. Colonel Wimpleton had by this time forgotten all about my father, and was intent only on preventing his great enemy from buying the estate.“Sixteen,” said the major, who, seeing the torture he was inflicting upon his malignant rival, was in excellent humor.“Seventeen,” promptly responded Colonel Wimpleton.“Eighteen.”“Nineteen,” gasped the colonel.“Two thousand.”“Twenty-one hundred,” roared the colonel, desperately.“Twenty-two,” laughed the major.The colonel was listening to the remonstrance of his lawyer, and the auctioneer was permitted to dwell on the last bid for a moment.“Twenty-three!” shouted the colonel.“Twenty-three hundred dollars—twenty-three, twenty-three, twenty-three,” chipped the auctioneer, with professional formality, when the major did not instantly follow the last bid. “Going at twenty-three hundred! Are you all done?”“Knock it off!” growled the colonel, savagely, but in a low tone.“Going at twenty-three hundred—one—two—three—and gone, to Colonel Wimpleton, at twenty-three hundred,” added the auctioneer, as he brought down his hammer for the last time.“Pretty well sold, after all,” said the major to me, as he rubbed his hands.“Yes, sir; thanks to you, it is very well sold,” I replied, running over with joy at the unexpected termination of the farce.Colonel Wimpleton swore like a pirate. He was the maddest man on the western continent.“Colonel, if you are dissatisfied with your bargain, I shall be happy to take the property at my last bid,” said the major as he walked out into the road.I will not repeat what the great man of Centreport said in reply, for it was not fit to be set down on clean, white paper. My father and I crossed the lake, and went home with the good news to my mother, who was anxiously waiting to hear the result. Whatever joy she experienced at the good fortune of my father, she was too good a woman to exult over the quarrels of the two great men.“I think Colonel Wimpleton will not try to punish me any more,” said my father. “He pays eight hundred dollars more than I was offered for the place. If he is satisfied, I am.”The next day the twenty-three hundred dollars, less the expenses of the sale, was paid over to myfather. He had already cast longing eyes upon a beautiful estate on the outskirts of the town of Middleport, having ten acres of land, with a fine orchard; but the owner would not sell it for less than five thousand dollars. The fruit upon the place would more than pay the interest of the money; and, as soon as he had received the proceeds of the sale, he bought the estate, paying two thousand down, and giving a mortgage for three thousand. We moved in immediately. The house was even better than that we had occupied in Centreport, and I assure the reader, in concluding my story, that we were as happy as any family need be left at the end of a last chapter.Of the Lake Shore Railroad I have much more to say, in other stories which will follow. The road was soon completed to Grass Springs, thirteen miles from Middleport, and I ran the dummy to that point during the autumn. In due time we had a regular locomotive and cars, and ran to Ucayga, where we connected with a great line of railway between the east and the west. We had a great deal of trouble with the Wimpletonians, and theCentreporters generally, of which something will be said in my next story—“Lightning Express, or The Rival Academies.”The Toppletonians continued to treat me very kindly, and I did my best for them. Our family troubles appeared to be all ended. My father was as steady as he had ever been, and though we heard nothing from Christy, we were on the high road to prosperity. Miss Grace Toppleton was frequently a passenger in the dummy, and I must add that she was always very kind and considerate to me. I am sure her smile encouraged me to be good and true, and to be faithful in the discharge of my duty; or, in other words, to put itThrough by Daylight.
THE AUCTION SALE.
My father was very unhappy, and my mother was afraid he would again resort to the cup for solace in his misfortune. I do not know what she said to him; but he treated her very tenderly, and never was a woman more devoted than she was during this threatening misfortune. My father was again a poor man. All that he had of worldly goods was to be stripped from him to satisfy the malice of his hard creditor. He was too proud to apply to Major Toppleton for assistance, believing that he would have nothing to do with property on the other side of the lake.
I continued to run the dummy, and was so happy as to keep on the right side of the major, his son, and the students. Before the expiration of the legal notice, my father hired a small house in Middleport,and we moved into it. It was only a hovel, compared with the neat and comfortable dwelling we had occupied in Centreport, and the change was depressing to all the members of the family. My father’s place was advertised to be sold, and as the day—which looked like a fatal one to us—drew near, we were all very sad and nervous. Nothing had yet been heard of Christy; and the case was a plain one. The thousand dollars saved from the earnings of the debtor was to be sacrificed. No man in Centreport, however much he wanted the house, would dare to bid upon it.
My father desired to attend the sale, perhaps hopeful that his presence might induce some friend of other days to bid a little more for the place. My mother did not wish to have him attend the auction; but as he insisted, she desired that I should go with him. I had no wish to be present at the humiliating spectacle, or to endure the sneers and the jeers of the Centreporters; but I decided to go, for my presence might be some restraint upon my father, if his misfortunes tempted him to drink again. I applied to Major Toppleton for leave of absence formy father and myself on the day of the sale. My father had engaged a man to take his place, and Faxon could now run the dummy.
“What’s going on over there?” asked the major, after he had consented to the absence of both of us.
“My father’s place is to be sold at auction. Colonel Wimpleton has foreclosed the mortgage,” I replied.
“How much has your father paid on the house?”
“He paid a thousand dollars down; and the mortgage is for two thousand. He would have paid the note when it was due, but his money was stolen from him.”
“I remember about that,” added the major, musing. “Will the place bring enough at auction to enable your father to get back the thousand dollars he paid?”
“No, sir; we don’t expect it will bring anything over the mortgage. Colonel Wimpleton means to punish my father by ruining him, and none of the Centreport people will dare to bid on the place.”
He asked me several questions more, and I told him as well as I could how the matter stood. Iwas hoping most earnestly that he would offer to advance the money to pay off the mortgage; but just as my expectations reached the highest pitch, a gentleman interrupted the conversation, and the major went off with him in a few moments, having apparently forgotten all about the subject. My hopes were dashed down. I conveyed all the students out to Sandy Beach in the dummy that afternoon, and brought them back; but I was so absorbed in our family affairs that I hardly knew what I was doing.
At one o’clock the next day, I went over to Centreport with father to attend the sale. He was very nervous, and I was hardly less so. At the appointed time, a large collection of people gathered around the house. A red flag was flying on the fence, and all the company seemed as jovial as if they were assembled for a picnic, rather than to complete the ruin of my poor father. Hardly any one spoke to us; but I saw many who appeared to be talking about us, and enjoying the misery we experienced at the prospect of seeing our beloved home pass into other hands.
Colonel Wimpleton was there, and so was Waddie. Both of them seemed to be very happy, and both of them stared at us as though we had no right to set foot on the sacred soil of Centreport. Others imitated their illustrious example, and we were made as uncomfortable as possible. In our hearing, and evidently for our benefit, a couple of men discussed their proposed bids, one declaring that he would go as high as fifteen dollars, while the other would not be willing to take the place at so high a figure. Finally, the colonel, after passing us a dozen times, halted before my father.
“I suppose you have come over to bid on the place, Ralph,” said he.
“No, sir; I have nothing to back my bid with,” replied my father, meekly.
“You had better bid; I don’t think it will bring more than fifteen or twenty dollars over the mortgage,” chuckled the magnate.
“It ought to bring fifteen hundred,” added my father. “I was offered that for it once.”
“You should have taken it. Real estate is very much depressed in the market.”
“I should think it was; and I’m afraid Centreport is going down,” answered my father, with a faint smile.
“Going down!” exclaimed the great man, stung by the reflection. “Any other piece of property in Centreport would sell a hundred per cent. higher than this.”
“I suppose so!” ejaculated my poor father, fully understanding the reason why his place was to be sacrificed.
The auctioneer, who had mounted the steps of the front door, interrupted the conversation. He stated that he was about to sell all the right, title, and interest which Ralph Penniman had in the estate at twelve o’clock on a certain day, described the mortgage, and called for a bid.
“Twenty-five cents,” said a colored man in the crowd.
The audience gave way to a hearty burst of laughter at the richness of the bid.
“Thirty cents,” added Colonel Wimpleton, as soon as the noise had subsided.
The auctioneer dwelt on it for a moment, andthen the colored man advanced to thirty-one cents. By this time it was clear to us that these proceedings were a farce, intended to torment my father. I had never endured agonies more keen than those which followed these ridiculous bids, as I became conscious that my father was the butt of the company’s derision. The colonel, more liberal than the negro, went up to thirty-five cents; whereupon the latter advanced another cent, amid the laughter and jeers of the assembly. Thus it continued for some time, the colored man, who had doubtless been engaged to play his part, going up one cent and the great man four. Others occasionally bid a cent or a half-cent more; and half an hour was consumed in windy eloquence by the auctioneer, and in cent and half-cent bids, before the offer reached a dollar.
“One dollar and five cents,” said Colonel Wimpleton, at this point.
“One dollar and six cents,” promptly responded the negro.
“One dollar and six cents is bid for this very desirable estate,” added the auctioneer. “Consider, gentlemen, the value of this property, and the circumstancesunder which it is sold. Every dollar you bid goes into the pocket of the honest and hard-working mortgagor.”
“One dollar and ten cents,” said the colonel, as if moved by this appeal.
“Dollar ’leven,” added the negro.
“Consider, gentlemen, the situation of the unfortunate man whose interest in this property I am selling.”
“Dollar fifteen,” said the colonel.
“Dollar fifteen and a half,” persisted the negro, amid roars of laughter.
“One thousand dollars,” said some one in the rear of the crowd, in a loud, clear tone.
If the explosion of the honest skipper’s canal boat, which had been the indirect cause of the present gathering, had taken place in the midst of the crowd, it could not have produced greater amazement and consternation than the liberal bid of the gentleman on the outskirts of the assemblage. It was a bombshell of the first magnitude which burst upon the hilarious people of Centreport, met, as it seemed to me, for the sole purpose of sacrificing my poor father. I recognized the voice of the bidder.
It was Major Toppleton.
I had not seen him before. I did not know he was present. I afterwards learned that he arrived only a moment before he made the bid, and only had time to perceive the nature of the farce which was transpiring before he turned it into a tragedy.
“Dollar fifteen and a half,” repeated the auctioneer, so startled that he chose not to take the astounding bid of the magnate of Middleport.
“I bid one thousand dollars,” shouted Major Toppleton, angrily, as he forced his way through the crowd to the foot of the steps where the auctioneer stood.
“One thousand dollars is bid,” said the auctioneer, reluctantly.
I looked at Colonel Wimpleton, who stood near me. His face was red, and his portly frame quaked with angry emotions. My father’s property in the house was saved. We looked at each other, and smiled our gratitude.
“Toppleton must not have the property,” said Colonel Wimpleton to his lawyer, who stood next to him, while his teeth actually grated with thesavage ire which shook his frame. “He will put a nuisance under my very nose. Eleven hundred,” gasped the great man of Centreport, with frantic energy; and he was so furious at the interference of the major that I do not think he knew what he was about.
“Twelve hundred,” added Major Toppleton, quietly, now that this bid had been taken.
“Thirteen,” hoarsely called the colonel.
“Fourteen.”
“Fifteen.”
The crowd stood with their mouths wide open, waiting the issue with breathless eagerness. The auctioneer repeated the bids as he would have pronounced the successive sentences of his own death warrant. Colonel Wimpleton had by this time forgotten all about my father, and was intent only on preventing his great enemy from buying the estate.
“Sixteen,” said the major, who, seeing the torture he was inflicting upon his malignant rival, was in excellent humor.
“Seventeen,” promptly responded Colonel Wimpleton.
“Eighteen.”
“Nineteen,” gasped the colonel.
“Two thousand.”
“Twenty-one hundred,” roared the colonel, desperately.
“Twenty-two,” laughed the major.
The colonel was listening to the remonstrance of his lawyer, and the auctioneer was permitted to dwell on the last bid for a moment.
“Twenty-three!” shouted the colonel.
“Twenty-three hundred dollars—twenty-three, twenty-three, twenty-three,” chipped the auctioneer, with professional formality, when the major did not instantly follow the last bid. “Going at twenty-three hundred! Are you all done?”
“Knock it off!” growled the colonel, savagely, but in a low tone.
“Going at twenty-three hundred—one—two—three—and gone, to Colonel Wimpleton, at twenty-three hundred,” added the auctioneer, as he brought down his hammer for the last time.
“Pretty well sold, after all,” said the major to me, as he rubbed his hands.
“Yes, sir; thanks to you, it is very well sold,” I replied, running over with joy at the unexpected termination of the farce.
Colonel Wimpleton swore like a pirate. He was the maddest man on the western continent.
“Colonel, if you are dissatisfied with your bargain, I shall be happy to take the property at my last bid,” said the major as he walked out into the road.
I will not repeat what the great man of Centreport said in reply, for it was not fit to be set down on clean, white paper. My father and I crossed the lake, and went home with the good news to my mother, who was anxiously waiting to hear the result. Whatever joy she experienced at the good fortune of my father, she was too good a woman to exult over the quarrels of the two great men.
“I think Colonel Wimpleton will not try to punish me any more,” said my father. “He pays eight hundred dollars more than I was offered for the place. If he is satisfied, I am.”
The next day the twenty-three hundred dollars, less the expenses of the sale, was paid over to myfather. He had already cast longing eyes upon a beautiful estate on the outskirts of the town of Middleport, having ten acres of land, with a fine orchard; but the owner would not sell it for less than five thousand dollars. The fruit upon the place would more than pay the interest of the money; and, as soon as he had received the proceeds of the sale, he bought the estate, paying two thousand down, and giving a mortgage for three thousand. We moved in immediately. The house was even better than that we had occupied in Centreport, and I assure the reader, in concluding my story, that we were as happy as any family need be left at the end of a last chapter.
Of the Lake Shore Railroad I have much more to say, in other stories which will follow. The road was soon completed to Grass Springs, thirteen miles from Middleport, and I ran the dummy to that point during the autumn. In due time we had a regular locomotive and cars, and ran to Ucayga, where we connected with a great line of railway between the east and the west. We had a great deal of trouble with the Wimpletonians, and theCentreporters generally, of which something will be said in my next story—“Lightning Express, or The Rival Academies.”
The Toppletonians continued to treat me very kindly, and I did my best for them. Our family troubles appeared to be all ended. My father was as steady as he had ever been, and though we heard nothing from Christy, we were on the high road to prosperity. Miss Grace Toppleton was frequently a passenger in the dummy, and I must add that she was always very kind and considerate to me. I am sure her smile encouraged me to be good and true, and to be faithful in the discharge of my duty; or, in other words, to put itThrough by Daylight.
THE NORWOOD SERIESNorwood Series book coverNewly arranged Standard Collection of History, Biography, Heroism, and AdventureFifty favorites in new series New uniform cover design Attractive dies Fine cloth binding Illustrated Price per volume $1This series can truly be said to cover the world in its scope, as it chronicles heroic and daring exploits in all climes, told by an exceptionally strong list of authors. In addition we have included the full line of George Makepeace Towle’s famous “Heroes of History” and the ever popular Headley biographies. It is just the library to entertain and inform a live boy, and while composed of books that arouse eager interest is wholly free from cheap sensationalism.Andersen, Hans Christian—The Sand Hills of JutlandArmstrong, F. C.—The Young MiddyBarrows, Rev. William—Twelve Nights in a Hunter’s CampBallantyne, R. M.—The Life BoatBrehat, Alfred de—The French Robinson CrusoeCozzens, Samuel W.—The Young Silver SeekersClarke, Mary Cowden—Yarns of an Old MarinerDe Mille, Prof. James—Among the BrigandsThe Lily and the CrossThe Winged Lion or Stories of VeniceFarrar Capt. Charles A. J.—Down the West Branch or Camps and Tramps around KatahdinEastward Ho! or Adventures at Rangeley LakesUp the North Branch A Summer’s OutingWild Woods Life or A Trip to ParmacheneeFrost, John, LL.D.—Wild Scenes of a Hunter’s LifeHall, Capt. Charles W.—Twice Taken A Tale of LouisburgHarley, Dr.—-The Young Crusoe or Adventures of a Shipwrecked BoyHeadley, P. C.—Facing the Enemy The Life of Gen Wm. Tecumseh ShermanFight It Out on This Line The Life and Deeds of Gen U. S. GrantFighting Phil The Life of Gen. Philip Henry SheridanOld Salamander The Life of Admiral David G. FarragutOld Stars The Life of Gen. Ormsby M. MitchellThe Miner Boy and His Monitor The Career of John Ericsson, EngineerKingston, W. H. K.—Anthony WaymouthErnest Bracebridge or School Boy DaysThe Adventures of Dick Onslow among the RedskinsThe Cruise of the FrolicLee, Mrs. R.—The African CrusoesThe Australian WanderersMcCabe, James D., Jr—Planting the WildernessMacy, William H.—The Whales We Caught and How We Did ItMorecamp, Arthur—Live Boys or Charlie and Nasho in TexasLive Boys in the Black Hills or the Young Texas Gold HuntersPearson. Dr. C. H.—The Cabin on the PrairieThe Young Pioneers of the NorthwestRowcroft, Charles—The Australian CrusoesSt. John, Percy B.—The Arctic Crusoe Adventures on the Sea of IceTowle, George Makepeace—Drake the Sea King of DevonMagellan or The First Voyage around the WorldMarco Polo His Travels and AdventuresPizzaro His Adventures and ConquestsRaleigh His Voyages and AdventuresVasco da Gama His Voyages and AdventuresThe Heroes and Martyrs of InventionVerne, Jules—A Winter in the IceAround the World in Eighty DaysThe Wreck of the ChancellorWraxhall, Sir Lascelles—Golden Hair A Tale of the Pilgrim FathersThe Prairie Crusoe or Adventures in the Far WestWillis the Pilot A Sequel to the Swiss Family RobinsonLEE and SHEPARD Publishers Boston
THE NORWOOD SERIES
Norwood Series book cover
Newly arranged Standard Collection of History, Biography, Heroism, and Adventure
Fifty favorites in new series New uniform cover design Attractive dies Fine cloth binding Illustrated Price per volume $1
This series can truly be said to cover the world in its scope, as it chronicles heroic and daring exploits in all climes, told by an exceptionally strong list of authors. In addition we have included the full line of George Makepeace Towle’s famous “Heroes of History” and the ever popular Headley biographies. It is just the library to entertain and inform a live boy, and while composed of books that arouse eager interest is wholly free from cheap sensationalism.
LEE and SHEPARD Publishers Boston
Transcriber’s NotePunctuation and other obvious typographic inconsistencies and inaccuracies were silently corrected.Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.Correctionspp.43,45,47,58,198:had dranktohad drunkp.49,seachtosearchp.77:ablytoablep.226illustration:FORtoFROMp.249:had not dranktohad not drunkp.276:forgettoforgot