Having again cached their few effects, with the exception of Jean's trusty rifle, Tom was soon established on the litter and the hike was again renewed. Difficult as it had been for David and Jean to make their way to the point in the woods which they had just left, the return was a trebly laborious journey. The approach of night found them not yet halfway to the lumber camp. They had calculated that the increased supplies in David's knapsack would furnish them with supper, leaving a comfortable allowance for breakfast the next day. By starting again at daylight the following morning they hoped to reach camp before the middle of the next afternoon. As they drew nearer to the camp they knew they would find the road less difficult.

"We hav' not done bad," congratulated Jean when, at twilight, they halted to prepare supper. "We hav' meet no one that hav' the wish to 'arm us. M'sieu' Tom he get better all the time. Mebbe now because he get better an' we so near camp, after supper he tell about wil' man. Then we turn in; go to sleep quick, an' to-morrow we are safe."

"You are right, Jean. I am getting better every minute, thanks to you fellows. Since I have your permission at last to talk about myself, I'll tell you what I've been crazy to say ever since I heard the call of the Elf's Horn and you found me." Tom gave an involuntary sigh as the events of the past few weeks came to his mind.

Supper was somewhat hastily disposed of. Both David and Jean were as anxious to hear Tom Gray's story, as the latter was to tell it. Self-denial in this respect had been hard to practice. Yet all three had acquitted themselves with credit. Seated on a log, with his friends on either side of him, Tom started his strange narrative with:

"At the very beginning I'll say that I'm primarily to blame for my own troubles. The afternoon I landed in that little village nearest to the camp, I had made up my mind to get to camp that same day. When I found I couldn't get any kind of conveyance to take me there, I decided to walk. The station master warned me that a big storm was coming, but I thought I could make the trip before it came. The sky didn't look very threatening to me.

"He was a better weather prophet than I, for I hadn't gone two miles when the storm broke. And such a storm! It was a terror! At first it was a gale of wind, and maybe it didn't hit the trees, though. The way they came crashing down made me sick at heart. You know how I feel about trees. That I might get hurt didn't bother me half so much as to see the way those magnificent old wonders were being demolished.

"Though it was summer it grew pretty dark in the woods and, for the first time I ever remember, I lost my way, I didn't know it just then. I thought I was going north, when all the time I must have been going west. I didn't want to stop. I thought I would be courting just as much chance of getting hit by a falling tree if I stood still as if I kept on going. Besides I was anxious to reach the camp. I had been following a narrow trail, as well as I could under the circumstances, and I supposed I was still on it. It was not until long afterward that I realized that I had made a mistake.

"Well, I plodded along for hours thinking I'd soon reach the camp. It was then pitch dark and raining hard. I was beginning to tire, too. I wasn't in the least worried about not finding the camp. I knew, of course, by that time that I was lost, but I knew, too, I'd be all right when morning came. What bothered me was to hunt some place where I could get out of the rain and spend the night. But I couldn't find even an overhanging rock, though I kept my pocket searchlight going constantly.

"The last time I turned it on my watch I saw it was ten o 'clock. After that—well here comes the queerest story you ever heard. I was stumbling along in the dark, when all of a sudden the ground seemed to disappear under my very feet. I felt myself falling. I don't suppose it was more than ten feet, but it seemed a mile. I struck something hard, all in a heap. After that I didn't remember anything until I opened my eyes, groaning terribly. It was just getting daylight. I was lying at the bottom of a gorge. Bending over me was the most terrifying person I had ever seen in all my forest wanderings. It was a man and he was a regular giant. He had a head of long snow-white hair and a long white beard that made him look like Father Time. But his face was young, almost child-like, except his eyes. They were big and black and wild. When he saw my eyes were open he gave a kind of leap into the air and shouted at the top of his lungs: 'He is alive again! My son has come back!'

"Before I could say a word he stooped and grabbed me up in his arms. As my left leg hurt me terribly, I knew it must be broken. I groaned and tried to tell him, but he hung me over his shoulder as though I were a feather and went crashing through the woods. I fainted with pain and didn't come to myself again for quite a while. We were still traveling along as though the fellow had on seven league boots. The pain in my leg became even worse and I fainted again. When I came to myself the second time, the sun was shining down through the trees. I was lying on the ground and this crazy fellow—I was sure by that time that he was crazy—was circling around me, muttering and laughing to himself.

"I tried again to talk to him, but I was suffering too much to do more than mumble. I don't know how long we'd been there. I suppose he'd only stopped to rest, for before long he hoisted me over his shoulder again and away we went. Quite a while after that we struck that little valley where the hut stands. He carried me into the shack and laid me on the floor. I hadn't the least idea of what he was going to do, and I was too sick to care. I knew he was crazy and that I could expect almost anything to happen. What really happened was the biggest kind of a surprise. He undressed me with the greatest gentleness and then examined my broken leg, and afterward set it and fixed it up with the skill of a doctor, in spite of the fact that he had no conveniences to help him. You can imagine how I suffered during the process. I groaned a good deal and he must have really sympathized with me, for he crooned and lamented over me all the time he was doing it. He kept calling me his dear son and said over and over, 'God has given you back to me at last.'

"Then he went out of the hut and came back after a while with a forest of balsam boughs. He made me a bough bed in one corner of the room, spread a blanket over it and laid me on it. After that he rummaged around the place and fished out an iron kettle from a heap of stuff in a corner. Then he took it and went out of the shack, and I heard him lock the door after him. He was gone a long time, several hours, I presume. When he returned he hunted up a battered tin dish and went out again. Pretty soon he came back with part of a cooked rabbit and some broth. And I was glad to get it.

"Matters ran along in about that way for some days. I tried at first to keep track of them, but I was in so much pain that I soon lost count. It wasn't physical pain alone, either. I went almost crazy myself wondering what Grace and Aunt Rose would think at not hearing from me. I knew that as soon as they realized that I had disappeared, they would send some one to find me. I hadn't the least idea of where I was. I still supposed that I wasn't far from the lumber camp and expected any moment to see a search party descend on the hut. I soon found that I couldn't expect any help from my host. He was crazy as a loon and besides he had a fixed idea that I was a son of his who had evidently been supposed to be dead for several years and had now come to life again in the woods. I tried once to explain to him that I wasn't his son, but it made him so angry that I was afraid to say anything more about it for fear he'd finish me. He wouldn't talk much. When he did say anything it was absolutely without sense. But he'd sit on the floor beside my bed by the hour, and stare at me out of his wild black eyes. He was good to me, though. He fed me and took care of me in a way that surprised me.

"Twice he left me for a whole day and a night. When he came back he brought a lot of provisions with him. He had quite a bit of money in notes in the shack. He kept it in a box under a board in the floor and almost every day he'd go there to look at it. He never counted it. He'd lift the board, haul out the box, pat the roll of bills, croon over it, and stuff it back again. One thing kept me thinking we were near to the camp was the provisions he brought in. How he managed to get them without getting himself locked up was a mystery to me.

"As my leg began to get better, he began to grow less careful of me. Knowing that I couldn't possibly get away, he would set food and water beside my bed, lock me in the cabin—he never failed to do that—and go away for three or four days at a stretch, sometimes longer. Often I used to be faint with hunger before he'd come back. On one of those jaunts somebody must have seen him, for he came tearing into the hut late one night saying, 'I am afraid they saw me! I hid in the woods until dark for fear they would follow me. They must not see me nor find out where I live. If they do, they will try to take you away again and then tell me you are dead. They would not believe that you have come to life again. If they ever come I will kill them.'

"After that he stayed in or near the shack for days. He was so upset for fear someone would find me that instead of going around as usual without saying much, he would talk all the time. He was cunning enough not to talk loudly, though. He had a glimmer of sense even if he was crazy, for he kept his voice down to a mutter. I dare say my broken leg would have healed a good deal faster, if he had gone on giving me as good care as he gave me at first. He wasn't anxious for me to get well. He used to say, 'When you can walk again, you will have to stay shut up just the same. If you go into the woods, they will see you and take you away.'

"Privately I made up my mind that as soon as I was well enough I wouldn't wait for 'them' to 'take me away'; I'd go of my own accord. But I had to be careful. As I've already told you he was a giant. He was at least six feet three and strong as a gorilla. I often used to wonder who he was and all about him. One day, about a week before you came, I thought I'd try my damaged leg to see if I could use it. He was off on one of his jaunts or I wouldn't have dared to try it. I found I could hobble about a little and just for curiosity I lifted up the board in the floor, not because I wanted to count his money, but to see what else he kept in the little old-fashioned box he always took it from. All I found besides the money was a battered photograph of a little boy. On the back of it was written in a round, childish hand: 'To my father. You little son, Wallace Lindsey, twelve years old.' I suppose it must have been——"

Old Jean interrupted Tom's recital with a sudden ringing cry of, "It is the wil' man! He hav' the name Lindsey. You remember, M'sieu' David, I hav' tell you 'bout him!" In his excitement Jean leaped from the log, Tom and David viewing him in amazement. "But w'en I hav' see his son, he big man lak' his father."

"What do you know of him, Jean!" Tom's question was freighted with eagerness. "It's evident you must know something."

"Do you mean, Jean, that you think this fellow is the one you were telling me of?" demanded David skeptically.

"It is the sam'," almost shouted the hunter. "I hav' know the name when I hear it, but never could I remember. But I think he dead long time, because after his son who he hav' love much get kill by tree, he turn to wil' man an' run 'way to Canada, an' no one know after where he hav' gone. Of a truth we hav' done well not to meet him. No wonder you say 'urry an' get away, M'sieu' Tom."

"Yes, I knew the danger if you didn't," returned Tom. "He had been gone three days when you came and I was expecting him back at almost any minute. Now I understand why he called me his dear son. How we managed to dodge him is a miracle."

"Finding you was a miracle!" was David's reverent exclamation. "I feel as though I'd been living in a nightmare and just awakened from it."

"Le bon Dieu never forget the one' he lov'," nodded Jean positively. "An' he hav' lov' Mam'selle Grace an' M'sieu' Tom much or we never fin' the M'sieu'." Jean made his usual sign of reverence for the Supreme Being in which his faith was firmly grounded. "Now we mak' ready to spen' another night outdoors. Jean will watch while his frien's sleep. To-morrow an' we see the camp. Then, M'sieu' David, it is for you to go to the village an' sen' the message that we hav' not fail, to those who watch an' wait."

Late the following afternoon the overseer of the lumber camp received the surprise of his life. The sight of two exhausted, weather-beaten men who toiled painfully into his front yard, bearing a rude litter on which reclined a third man, sent the amazed Scotchman racing joyfully to meet them. A little later Tom Gray was surrounded by the comforts which had so long been denied him. After a hearty meal and a brief rest, David Nesbit set off for the village on the overseer's horse to telegraph to Grace Harlowe and Mrs. Gray the glorious news that Tom Gray had been found and would soon be restored to them.

But David had also another equally important commission to execute which directly concerned Jean's "wil' man." After sending the two telegrams he went at once to the home of the county sheriff, who lived in the village. Completely disgusted with the lax manner in which the sheriff had conducted the search, David reported to him the finding of Tom, with a scathing arraignment which the inefficient official accepted in scowling silence. Convinced by David's rebuke that it was high time to redeem himself, he agreed to send out a posse of men the very next day to cover the western stretch of forest in which the demented man had managed to keep himself so cleverly concealed.

It may be said here that the sheriff kept his word. For two weeks the hunters of the unfortunate man scoured the forest to find him. Due to the wildness of the region they had great difficulty in locating the place of Tom Gray's imprisonment. Once discovered, they found the hut empty. A guard was posted around it, but the fearsome tenant never returned. It was not until almost a year afterward that those whose lives fate had briefly linked with his, read in a newspaper a lengthy account of his capture in a town a long distance from the territory surrounding the lumber camp. The news that he had been placed in an asylum for the insane was a matter of relief to all concerned.

* * * * *

On the very afternoon that Tom Gray was carried into the overseer's yard Grace Harlowe and J. Elfreda Briggs were making arrangements to leave Oakdale for a brief visit to Emma Dean at Overton College. They had planned to depart for Overton on the nine o'clock train the next morning, little dreaming of the remarkable upheaval that was soon to take place in their plans. Having waited long and patiently for news from the north Grace was feeling the suspense most keenly. She had expected so much from Jean that with each day's dawn the struggle to maintain a hopeful aspect grew more difficult. It was now over two weeks since Jean had departed from Oakdale, and aside from two brief letters from David, written during the first week of the renewed search for Tom Gray, she had heard nothing further from him. From Jean she had not expected to receive a letter. It had been agreed beforehand that David should do the letter-writing.

Despite her efforts at concealment, her deep depression now began to stamp itself so strongly upon her sensitive features, that Elfreda Briggs had again pleaded with her to consider paying a brief visit to Emma Dean. Fond as she was of Emma, Grace's heart was not in the proposed trip to Overton. She finally made reluctant consent, merely to please the girl who had stood by her so staunchly.

It was therefore a most mournful Loyalheart who listlessly packed a traveling bag, preparatory to the next morning's journey. Long after the house was quiet for the night, she lay awake, debating with herself whether or not it were wise to go to Overton. Morning found her still undecided. When at half-past eight o'clock she and Elfreda descended the stairs, luggage in hand, she experienced a wild desire to refuse flatly to go. The thought that the taxicab ordered to convey them to the station was probably on its way to the house, brought her a remorseful reflection that she had no right to back out at the last moment, thus disappointing Elfreda.

"What's the matter with that taxicab, I wonder?" grumbled the latter. Standing beside Grace on the veranda, she was engaged in peering frowningly down the street. "When I make up my mind to go, I want to go. If that driver loiters along the way until he makes us miss our train, he'll hear what I have to say about it. The idea of him being so late——"

"Oh!" A sharp cry from Grace, whose gray eyes had been pensively staring up the street, put an abrupt end to Elfreda's remark. Coming down the street toward the house a bicycle appeared ridden by a youngster in the uniform of a messenger from a world-known telegraph company. Where was he going? Was the telegraphic communication he bore for her? Grace cried out again as she saw him stop before the gate and dismount.

Before he was fairly through the gate a lithe figure had darted down the steps toward him. Halfway up the walk they met. "Telegram for you, Miss Harlowe," announced the boy cheerily. "Sign here, please." Handing her a stub of a pencil, he held the book. With a shaking hand she managed to trace her name. As he turned and went down the walk whistling shrilly, Grace stared at the yellow envelope, hardly daring to open it.

In the same instant she felt Elfreda Briggs' reassuring arm about her. From the veranda the stout girl "could see" and had acted accordingly.

With a quick gasping breath Grace tore open the envelope, her trembling fingers fumbling at its contents. Then the world seemed suddenly to recede, leaving her alone with the unbelievable information: "Tom found. O.K. Sends love. Coming home Tuesday. Will wire train. David."



CHAPTER XXIV

THE NOON OF GOLDEN SUMMER

It was high noon on a gloriously sunshiny Indian summer day in November; one of the last fond concessions of Mother Nature to those who still mourn her departed "darling of the year." In a stately church on Chapel Hill, Golden Summer was at high noon in two hearts. To Tom Gray and Grace Harlowe, as they knelt for a moment before the altar, preparatory to taking their vows of eternal constancy and devotion, the world held but those two.

In the sweet silence that pervaded the overflowing church, the two young voices rang out clearly as they repeated their solemn pledges. Unflinchingly they had weathered their winter of despair. It was eminently fitting that happiness should now flood their loyal souls. Among the large assemblage that had gathered to witness the welding of that holy bond, there was not one person who did not rejoice with Grace and Tom.

Over a month had passed since that memorable October evening when Tom Gray, looking but a shadow of his formerly robust self, had set foot on the platform of the Oakdale station to receive the fervent welcome of those whose lives and interests were centered in his own. As his arrival had been kept a secret, few by-standers were at the station when he arrived. After the first rush of greeting had spent itself, he was affectionately conducted to Mrs. Gray's limousine with herself, the Wingates, Grace, David and Jean as a bodyguard. Though still weak, three days of rest had done much for him. Whatever he still lacked in mere physical strength, he was the same buoyant, cheerful Tom, with only a slight limp in his walk, and a touch of haunting wistfulness in his gray eyes as a reminder of his terrible experience.

At home once more and surrounded by every luxury and with every consideration that those who loved him could offer, health came back with a rush. His rugged constitution had stood him in good stead during those dark days in the sequestered hut, and by the first of November he was quite himself again.

During the days of his rapid convalescence, the earlier-interrupted wedding plans went steadily forward. The bitterness of loss had doubly endeared Grace and Tom to each other. Out of the ashes of suffering, affection had put forth a new growth which to them seemed completely to dwarf their love of previous days. In proportion to the sorrow which had been hers when she wrote to her comrades regarding the postponement of her marriage was the supreme joy she experienced in writing them of Tom's return. With Tom at home and entirely well again, she felt that she could this time defy fate in setting her wedding day for the sixteenth of November.

And now the day had dawned, perfect in its autumnal beauty. Though the trees were bare of leaves, the Oakdale gardens and lawns still flaunted a few late-blooming, rich-hued chrysanthemums. Perhaps it was because of the dark season of suspense through which she and Tom had passed that Grace declared herself for the cheerful daintiness of a pink and white wedding. In contradistinction to the weddings of her chums, who with the exception of Miriam Nesbit had each been accompanied to the altar by a bevy of bridesmaids, Grace announced that she wished the services of only a maid of honor and two flower girls. Nor did any one complain when her choice of bridal attendant fell upon J. Elfreda Briggs. As for the latter, she was in the seventh heaven of delight and wondered humbly how it had all happened. Anna May and Elizabeth Angerell felt equally proud and delighted to have been chosen by dear Miss Harlowe as flower girls.

As the greater part of the townspeople of Oakdale were desirous of seeing Grace Harlowe and Tom Gray married, Grace rather reluctantly decided in favor of a church wedding. Privately she would have preferred being married in her own home, but this she kept strictly to herself. There was also another secret which she and Tom sedulously guarded. It related to where they intended to go on their honeymoon. Only Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe and Mrs. Gray had shared their confidence regarding their purposed destination, and their elders proved themselves to be good secret-keepers. Withholding this bit of information was in the nature of a whim on Grace's part, and though she and Tom were daily besieged with questions by their friends, no one had any serious thought of spoiling Grace's little surprise by endeavoring to pry it from her smiling lips.

Apart from the Six Originals and her many intimate Oakdale friends of school and later days, countless others gathered from far and near to be on hand for the great day. The Semper Fidelis girls had journeyed to Oakdale to a member. Judge Putnam and his sister, Mrs. Gibson, Mrs. Allison and Mabel, Arnold Evans, the Southards, Eleanor Savelli, her father and her aunt, Miss Nevin, had all congregated to do her honor. Even Professor Morton and Miss Wilder were among those present. Mrs. Gray insisted on making herself responsible for the appearance of the Harlowe House girls, who received special permission from Professor Morton to attend the great event in a body.

Kathleen West, Laura Atkins, Mabel Ashe and Patience Eliot came to the wedding, as did Madge Morton and the Meadow-brook Girls. In fact, Oakdale had the air of a town holding a convention, and it would not have been surprising to many had the streets of the little city suddenly burst forth in gay decorations. As for wedding gifts, their name was legion, and Grace laughingly declared herself to be hopelessly embarrassed by the number of beautiful and costly offerings which poured in upon her.

Perhaps she was most deeply touched, however, by the arrival of a wonderful set of martin furs, sent her by Jean. The old hunter occupied a front seat in the church, at Tom's and Grace's earnest request, his rugged face glowing with proud happiness as he watched the two young people united in marriage. The ceremony over, Tom's first act after saluting his bride, embracing his aunt and newly acquired mother-in-law and grasping the hand of Mr. Harlowe, was to beckon Jean to him. "You come next, Jean. You gave me my happiness," were words which the old hunter treasured to the end of his life.

"For once I hav' the honor to salut' Mam'selle Grace," smiled the old man as he gripped Tom's hand. Then he kissed the radiant girl lightly on both cheeks, after the fashion of his nation. To him she would always be Mam'selle Grace.

Due to the flood of congratulations which constantly poured in upon the newly-weds, it was some time before they left the church to enter a waiting automobile which was to convey them to the Harlowes' home.

In order not to slight anyone, an elaborate reception had been arranged to take place there after the performance of the ceremony. The reception began shortly after the bridal pair reached the house, yet it was past five o'clock when the numerous guests had departed with the exception of a few of Grace's close friends, who stayed to see herself and Tom depart on their honeymoon.

"At last the mystery of 'Where lies honeymoon land?' is about to be solved," proclaimed Hippy, in a loud, jubilant voice. Occupying the center of the spacious flower-decked living-room he beamed benevolently on the company of young folks who had tarried at the Harlowes' to learn that very thing. Gathered there were six of the Eight Originals, Miriam, Everett Southard and Miss Southard, the Savellis and Miss Nevin, Mrs. Gray, Mrs. Nesbit, old Jean, Kathleen West and Patience Eliot, Mabel Ashe, Laura Atkins and the Semper Fidelis girls. Despite the goodly size of the room it was a trifle more than well-filled by those who waited till Grace and Tom should reappear to say good-bye before starting on their trip. The latter had briefly absented himself to go on a mysterious errand to his aunt's home, which they guessed had something to do with the secret.

They had been waiting together perhaps twenty minutes, when Hippy launched his loud, cheerful remark, for which he was laughingly taken to task by Nora.

"Why should I not announce that the momentous time is at hand?" he demanded in a purposely grieved voice. "I am merely voicing the sentiments of the multitude. Look at their eager, wistful faces and dare to say I am not right."

"For once I'll stand by you," conceded Reddy graciously. "I never expected to do it, but the unexpected sometimes happens." He sidled nearer to Hippy as he spoke.

"Is that a threat?" flung back Hippy, taking several cautious steps away from the approaching Reddy.

"It depends——" began Reddy.

He did not finish his speech. The sound of approaching feet on the stairs turned the eyes of every one toward the wide doorway. A ripple of fond surprise circled the room, as Grace descended the last step to be met by Tom Gray. Into the room, hand in hand, stepped two veritable foresters. In his suit of brown corduroy, with his high-laced tan boots, Tom looked as though he were about to start on one of the long hikes in which he so delighted. Attired in a trim suit of hunter's green that reached a trifle below a pair of high-laced boots, the counterpart of Tom's, except that they were small and dainty, a hat of soft green velour upon her golden brown hair, Grace was a true forest maid.

An instant and they were surrounded by an eager, buzzing throng. Their very appearance told its own story. Knowing them so well, those present understood the meaning of their unusual attire. For half an hour the two lingered among these friends who were so loth to part with them. Then the grandfather's clock in the hall sent out its ringing chime of six o'clock. Tom and Grace exchanged affectionate glances. "It is time to say good-bye." Grace's clear voice wavered a little on the last word. "But when the last good-bye has been said, won't you please all of you see us as far as the gate?"

A unanimous assent went up from every throat as their dear ones hemmed in the two foresters to offer them heartfelt good wishes and exchange final good-byes. Heading a smiling procession to the gate, Tom and Grace paused to say a last word of farewell to Mrs. Gray and Mr. and Mrs. Harlowe, who had followed directly behind them. Grace's final caress was reserved for her mother. For an instant the two clung fondly to each other, then, accepting Tom's hand, Grace Harlowe passed through the gateway of her first home to begin her pilgrimage to a second that awaited her beyond Upton Wood.

The brooding tenderness that lighted Mrs. Harlowe's eyes was reflected in those of the silent group that stood watching the two figures as, side by side, they swung bravely up the quiet street in the last warm rays of the setting sun. An eloquent silence reigned as the intent watchers followed the progress of the foresters up the street to the point of disappearance. It was broken by Kathleen West. Out of the love she bore Grace Harlowe she had christened Grace, "Loyalheart." It seemed only natural that she should be the one to speak the epilogue to this little drama of human love and happiness. Clearly and sweetly it fell on the still evening air: "Having ended her pilgrimage in the Land of College, Loyalheart has gone to Haven Home."

THE END



* * * * *



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By FRANK GEE PATCHIN

These tales may be aptly described the best books for boys and girls.

THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN THE ROCKIES; Or, The Secret of the Lost Claim.

THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN TEXAS; Or, The Veiled Riddle of the Plains.

THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN MONTANA; Or, The Mystery of the Old Custer Trail.

THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN THE OZARKS; Or, The Secret of Ruby Mountain.

THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN THE ALKALI; Or, Finding a Key to the Desert Maze.

THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN NEW MEXICO; Or, The End of the Silver Trail.

THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN THE GRAND CANYON; Or, The Mystery of Bright Angel Gulch.



The Boys of Steel Series

By JAMES R. MEARS

Each book presents vivid picture of this great industry. Each story is full of adventure and fascination.

THE IRON BOYS IN THE MINES; Or, Starting at the Bottom of the Shaft.

THE IRON BOYS AS FOREMEN; Or, Heading the Diamond Drill Shift.

THE IRON BOYS ON THE ORE BOATS; Or, Roughing It on the Great Lakes.

THE IRON BOYS IN THE STEEL MILLS; Or, Beginning Anew in the Cinder Pits.



The Madge Morton Books

By AMY D. V. CHALMERS

MADGE MORTON—CAPTAIN OF THE MERRY MAID.

MADGE MORTON'S SECRET.

MADGE MORTON'S TRUST.

MADGE MORTON'S VICTORY.



West Point Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

The principal characters in these narratives are manly, young Americans whose doings will inspire all boy readers.

DICK PRESCOTT'S FIRST YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Two Chums in the Cadet Gray.

DICK PRESCOTT'S SECOND YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Finding the Glory of the Soldier's Life.

DICK PRESCOTT'S THIRD YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Standing Firm for Flag and Honor.

DICK PRESCOTT'S FOURTH YEAR AT WEST POINT; Or, Ready to Drop the Gray for Shoulder Straps.



Annapolis Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

The Spirit of the new Navy is delightfully and truthfully depicted in these volumes.

DAVE DARRIN'S FIRST YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Two Plebe Midshipmen at the U. S. Naval Academy.

DAVE DARRIN'S SECOND YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Two Midshipmen as Naval Academy "Youngsters."

DAVE DARRIN'S THIRD YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Leaders of the Second Class Midshipmen.

DAVE DARRIN'S FOURTH YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS; Or, Headed for Graduation and the Big Cruise.



The Young Engineers Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

The heroes of these stories are known to readers of the High School Boys Series. In this new series Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton prove worthy of all the traditions of Dick & Co.

THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN COLORADO; Or, At Railroad Building in Earnest.

THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN ARIZONA; Or, Laying Tracks on the "Man-Killer" Quicksand.

THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN NEVADA; Or, Seeking Fortune on the Turn of a Pick.

THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN MEXICO; Or, Fighting the Mine Swindlers.



Boys of the Army Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

These books breathe the life and spirit of the United States Army of to-day, and the life, just as it is, is described by a master pen.

UNCLE SAM'S BOYS IN THE RANKS; Or, Two Recruits in the United States Army.

UNCLE SAM'S BOYS ON FIELD DUTY; Or, Winning Corporal's Chevrons.

UNCLE SAM'S BOYS AS SERGEANTS; Or, Handling Their First Real Commands.

UNCLE SAM'S BOYS IN THE PHILIPPINES; Or, Following the Flag Against the Moros.



Battleship Boys Series

By FRANK GEE PATCHIN

These stories throb with the life of young Americans on to-day's huge drab Dreadnaughts.

THE BATTLESHIP BOYS AT SEA; Or, Two Apprentices in Uncle Sam's Navy.

THE BATTLESHIP BOYS FIRST STEP UPWARD; Or, Winning Their Grades as Petty Officers.

THE BATTLESHIP BOYS IN FOREIGN SERVICE; Or, Earning New Ratings in European Seas.

THE BATTLESHIP BOYS IN THE TROPICS; Or, Upholding the American Flag in a Honduras Revolution.



The Meadow-Brook Girls Series

By JANET ALDRIDGE

Real live stories pulsing with the vibrant atmosphere of outdoor life.

THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS UNDER CANVAS.

THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS ACROSS COUNTRY.

THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS AFLOAT.

THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS IN THE HILLS.

THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS BY THE SEA.

THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS ON THE TENNIS COURTS.



High School Boys Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

In this series of bright, crisp books a new note has been struck. Boys of every age under sixty will be interested in these fascinating volumes.

THE HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMEN; Or, Dick & Co.'s First Year Pranks and Sports.

THE HIGH SCHOOL PITCHER; Or, Dick & Co. on the Gridley Diamond.

THE HIGH SCHOOL LEFT END; Or, Dick & Co. Grilling on the Football Gridiron.

THE HIGH SCHOOL CAPTAIN OF THE TEAM; Or, Dick & Co. Leading the Athletic Vanguard.



Grammar School Boys Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

This series of stories, based on the actual doings of grammar school boys, comes near to the heart of the average American boy.

THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS OF GRIDLEY; Or, Dick & Co. Start Things Moving.

THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS SNOWBOUND; Or, Dick & Co. at Winter Sports.

THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS IN THE WOODS; Or, Dick & Co. Trail Fun and Knowledge.

THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS IN SUMMER ATHLETICS; Or, Dick & Co. Make Their Fame Secure.



High School Boys' Vacation Series

By H. IRVING HANCOCK

"Give us more Dick Prescott books!"

This has been the burden of the cry from young readers of the country over. Almost numberless letters have been received by the publishers, making this eager demand; for Dick Prescott, Dave Darrin, Tom Reade, and the other members of Dick & Co. are the most popular high school boys in the land. Boys will alternately thrill and chuckle when reading these splendid narratives.

THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' CANOE CLUB; Or, Dick & Co.'s Rivals on Lake Pleasant.

THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS IN SUMMER CAMP; Or, The Dick Prescott Six Training for the Gridley Eleven.

THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' FISHING TRIP; Or, Dick & Co. in the Wilderness.

THE HIGH SCHOOL BOYS' TRAINING HIKE; Or, Dick & Co. Making Themselves "Hard as Nails."



The Circus Boys Series

By EDGAR B. P. DARLINGTON

Mr. Darlington's books breathe forth every phase of an intensely interesting and exciting life.

THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE FLYING RINGS; Or, Making the Start in the Sawdust Life.

THE CIRCUS BOYS ACROSS THE CONTINENT; Or, Winning New Laurels on the Tanbark.

THE CIRCUS BOYS IN DIXIE LAND; Or, Winning the Plaudits of the Sunny South.

THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI; Or, Afloat with the Big Show on the Big River.



The High School Girls Series

By JESSIE GRAHAM FLOWER, A. M.

These breezy stories of the American High School Girl take the reader fairly by storm.

GRACE HARLOWE'S PLEBE YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, The Merry Doings of the Oakdale Freshman Girls.

GRACE HARLOWE'S SOPHOMORE YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, The Record of the Girl Chums in Work and Athletics.

GRACE HARLOWE'S JUNIOR YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, Fast Friends in the Sororities.

GRACE HARLOWE'S SENIOR YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL; Or, The Parting of the Ways.



The Automobile Girls Series

By LAURA DENT CRANE

No girl's library—no family book-case can be considered at all complete unless it contains these sparkling twentieth-century books.

THE AUTOMOBILE GIRLS AT NEWPORT; Or, Watching the Summer Parade.

THE AUTOMOBILE GIRLS IN THE BERKSHIRES; Or, The Ghost of Lost Man's Trail.

THE AUTOMOBILE GIRLS ALONG THE HUDSON; Or, Fighting Fire in Sleepy Hollow.

THE AUTOMOBILE GIRLS AT CHICAGO; Or, Winning Out Against Heavy Odds.

THE AUTOMOBILE GIRLS AT PALM BEACH: Or, Proving Their Mettle Under Southern Skies.

THE AUTOMOBILE GIRLS AT WASHINGTON; Or, Checkmating the Plots of Foreign Spies.

THE END