He slung his bag of grain over his shoulder and stepped forth from his cabin at the dawn of day. The clearing he had made was an almost perfect circle. All around it were the green walls of the forest with the great trunks of the beeches, white and symmetrical, standing like vast Corinthian columns supporting a green frieze upon which rested the lofty roof of the immense cathedral. From the organ-loft the music of the morning breeze resounded, and from the choirs the sweet antiphonals of birds. Odors of pine, of balsam, of violets, of peppermint, of fresh-plowed earth, of bursting life, were wafted across the vast nave from transept to transept, and floated like incense up to heaven.

The priest, about to offer his sacrifice, the sacrifice of a broken heart and contrite spirit, about to confess his faith; in the beautiful and symbolic act of sacrificing the present for the future, stepped forth into the open furrow.

His open countenance, bronzed with the sun, was lighted with love and adoration; his lips smiled; his eyes glowed; he lifted them to the heavens in an unspoken prayer for the benediction of the great life-giver; he drew into his nostrils the sweet odors, into his lungs the pure air, into his soul the beauty and glory of the world, and then, filling his hand with the golden grain, he flung it into the bosom of the waiting earth.

All day long he strode across the clearing and with rhythmical swinging of his brawny arm lavishly scattered the golden grain.

As the sun went down and the sower neared the conclusion of his labor, his emotions became deeper and yet more deep. He entered more and more fully into the true spirit and significance of his act. He felt that it was a sacrament. Thoughts of the operation of the mighty energies which he was evoking; of the Divine spirit who brooded over all; of the coming into this wilderness of the woman who was to be the good angel of his life; of the ceremony that was to be enacted in the little meeting house; of the work to which he was dedicated in the future, kindled his soul into an ecstasy of joy. He ceased to be conscious of his present task. The material world loosened its hold upon his senses. His thoughts became riveted upon the elements of that spiritual universe that lay within and around him, and that seemed uncovered to his view as to the apostle of old. "Whether he was in the body, or out of the body, he could not tell!" Finally he ceased to move; his hand was arrested and hung poised in mid-air with the unscattered seed in its palm; he eyes were fixed on some invisible object and he stood as he had stood when we first caught sight of him in the half-plowed meadow—lost in a trance.

How long he stood he never knew, but he was wakened, at last, as it was natural and fitting he should be.

Fulfilling her agreement to come and bring him home on the eve of their wedding day, Pepeeta emerged like a beautiful apparition from an opening in the green wall of the great cathedral. She saw David standing immovable in the furrow. For a few moments she was absorbed in admiration of the grace and beauty of the noble and commanding figure, and then she was thrilled with the consciousness that she possessed the priceless treasure of his love. But these emotions were followed by a holy awe as she discovered that the soul of her lover was filled with religious ecstasy. She felt that the place whereon she stood was holy ground, and reverently awaited the emergence of the worshiper from the holy of holies into which he had withdrawn for prayer.

But the rapture lasted long and it was growing late. The shadows from the summits of the hills had already crept across the clearing and were silently ascending the trunks of the trees on the eastern side. It was time for them to go. She took a step toward him, and then another, moving slowly, reverently, and touched him on the arm. He started. The half-closed hand relaxed and the seed fell to the ground, the dreamer woke and descended from the heaven of the spiritual world into that of the earthly, the heart of a pure and noble woman.

"I have come," she said simply.

He took her in his arms and kissed her.

"Thee is not through yet?"

"So it seems! I must have lost myself."

"I think thee rather found thyself."

"Perhaps I did; but I must finish my labor. It will never do for me to let my visions supplant my tasks. They will be hurtful, save as incentives to toil. I must be careful!"

"Let me help thee. There are only a few more furrows. I am sure that I can sow," she said, extending her hand.

He placed some of the seed in her apron and she trudged by his side, laughing at her awkwardness but laboring with all her might. Her lover took her hand in his and showed her how to cast the seed, and so they labored together until every open furrow was filled. It was dark when they were done. They lingered a little while to put the cabin in order, and then turned their faces towards the old farmhouse.

The two little brooks were singing their evening song as they mingled their waters together in front of that wilderness home. The lovers stood a moment at their point of junction, as Pepeeta said, "It is a symbol of our lives." They listened to the low murmur, watched the crystal stream as it sparkled in the moonlight, stole away into the distance, chanting its own melodious lay of love. It led them out of the clearing and into the depths of the forest. They moved like spirits passing through a land of dreams. The palpable world seemed stripped of its reality. The creatures that stole across their path or started up as they passed, the crickets that chirped their little idyls at the roots of the great trees, the fire-flies that kindled their evanescent fires among the bushes, the night owls that hooted solemnly in the tree tops, the rustle of the leaves in the evening breeze, the gurgle of the waters over the stones in the bed of the brook, their own muffled footfalls, the patches of moonlight that lay like silver mats on the brown carpet of the woods, the flickering shadows, the ghostly trunks of the trees, the slowly swaying, plume-like branches, sounded only like faint echoes or gleamed only like soft reflections of a fairy world!

"It was here," Pepeeta said, pausing at the roots of a great beech tree, "that I came the day after we had first seen each other, to inquire of the gypsy goddess the secrets of the future. I have learned many lessons since!"

"It was here," said David, as they emerged from the forest into the larger valley, "that thee stood, a little way from the doctor's side, stroking the necks of his horses and peeping at us stealthily from under thy long dark lashes on the day when he tried to persuade me to join him in his roving life."

"It was here," Pepeeta said, as they approached the little bridge, "that we met each other and yielded our hearts to love."

"And met again after our tragedy and our suffering, to find that love is eternal," David added.

They stood for a few moments in silence, recalling that bitter past, and then the man of many sins and sorrows said, "Give me thy hand, Pepeeta. How small it seems in mine. Let me fold thee in my arms; it makes my heart bound to feel thee there! We have walked over rough roads together, and the path before us may not be always smooth. We have tasted the bitter cup between us, and there may still be dregs at the bottom. It is hard to believe that after all the wrong we have done we can still be happy. God is surely good! It seems to me that we must have our feet on the right path. He paused for a moment and then continued:

"I have brought thee many sorrows, sweetheart."

"And many joys."

"I mean to bring thee some in the future! The love I bear thee now is different from that of the past. I cannot wait until to-morrow to pledge thee my troth! Listen!"

She did so, gazing up into his face with dark eyes in which the light of the moon was reflected as in mountain lakes. There was something in them which filled his heart with unutterable emotion, and his words hung quivering upon his lips.

"Speak, my love, for I am listening," she said.

"I cannot," he replied.



A LIST OF RECENT FICTION OF THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY



ONE QUARTER MILLION COPIES

Have been sold of this great historical love-story of Princess Mary Tudor, sister of Henry VIII Price, $1.50

WHEN KNIGHTHOOD WAS IN FLOWER

ASK YOUR BOOKSELLER FOR IT



A VIVACIOUS ROMANCE OF REVOLUTIONARY DAYS.

* * * * *

ALICE OF OLD VINCENNES

By MAURICE THOMPSON

* * * * *

Mr. Thompson, whose delightful writings in prose and verse have made his reputation national has achieved his master stroke of genius in this historical novel of revolutionary days in Indiana.—The Atlanta Constitution.

There are three great chapters of fiction: Scott's tournament on Ashby field, General Wallace's chariot race, and now Maurice Thompson's duel scene and the raising of Alice's flag over old Fort Vincennes.—Denver Daily News.

More original than "Richard Carvel," more cohesive than "To Have and to Hold," more vital than "Janice Meredith," such is Maurice Thompson's superb American romance, "Alice of Old Vincennes." It is in addition, more artistic and spontaneous than any of its rivals.—Chicago Times-Herald.

12 mo. with five illustrations and a frontispiece in color, drawn by F.C. Yohn,

Price $1.50

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis



SWEEPERS of the SEA

The Story of a Strange Navy

By CLAUDE H. WETMORE

* * * * *

[From the St. Louis Mirror.]

The recital of the deeds of the "Sweepers of the Sea" is a breathless one.

The romance is heightened by the realism of the technique of naval warfare, by the sureness and voluminosity of nautical knowledge.

Imaginary sea fights are told with all the particularity of real events, and at the same time the descriptions have a breezy swing that hurries the reader along to most startling catastrophes.

Much of the material is evidently worked over from actual fact into the texture of romance.

The romance is evidently modern in action, but the motives are the grand and noble motives of a mysterious and splendid antiquity. The decendants of the Incas, moved by the Inca traditions, are not at all out of harmony with modern war-ships, or with a very modern war-correspondent, who is touched up a little to heroic proportions.

The book is pleasurable all the way through, and some of the descriptive passages are specimens of first-class writing. The work bears every evidence of having been carefully done, and yet the story reels off as naturally and easily as if it were a running record of fact.

That the general public will take to the book is a safe conclusion. It is just different enough from the ordinary, romantic novel to be essentially new.

Illustrated Price, $1.50

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis



THE STORY OF AN AMERICAN CRUCIFIXION.

* * * * *

THE PENITENTES

By LOUIS HOW.

* * * * *

To describe the customs of this band of intensely religious people without laying on the color too thickly and without melodramatic exaggeration, to retain all the color and picturesqueness of the original scene without excess, was the difficult task which Mr. How had to accomplish, and it is one which he has done well.—Chicago Record.

"The Penitentes" abounds in dramatic possibilities. It is full of action, warm color, and variety. The denouement at the little church of San Rafael, when the soldiers surprise the Penitentes at mass in the early dawn of their fete day, appeals strongly to the dramatizer.—Chicago Tribune.

Mr. How has done a truly remarkable piece of work . . . any hand, however practiced, might well be proud of the marvelously good descriptions, the dramatic, highly unusual story, the able characterizations. If "The Penitentes" does not make its author notable it will not be for lack of every "promising" condition.—The Interior.

12 mo. Cloth, ornamental Price $1.50 The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis



A STORY OF THE MORGAN RAID, DURING THE WAR OF THE REBELLION.

* * * * *

THE LEGIONARIES

By HENRY SCOTT CLARK.

* * * * *

"The Legionaries" is pervaded with what seems to be the true spirit of artistic impartiality. The hero, to be sure, is a secessionist, but the author, at least in this book, is simply a narrator. He stands aside, regarding with equal eye all the issues involved and the scales dip not in his hands. To sum up, the first romance of the new day on the Ohio is an eminently readable one—a good yarn well spun.—Cincinnati Commercial Tribune.

The appearance of a new novel in the west marks an epoch in fiction relating to the war between the sections for the preservation of the Union. "The Legionaries," by an anonymous writer, said to be a prominent lawyer of the Hoosier state, concerns the raid made by the intrepid Morgan through the southeastern corner of Indiana, through lower Ohio and to the borders of West Virginia, where his depleted command ran into a trap set by the federal authorities. It is a remarkable book, and we can scarcely credit the assurance that it is the work of a new writer.—Rochester Herald.

The scene is laid in Kentucky and Indiana, and the backbone of the story is Morgan's great raid—one of the most romantic and reckless pieces of adventure ever attempted in the history of the world. Mr. Clark's description of the "Ride of the Three Thousand" is a piece of literature that deserves to live; and is as fine in its way as the chariot race from "Ben Hur."—Memphis Commercial Appeal.

12 mo. Illustrated Price $1.50

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis



ANOTHER SUCCESSFUL HISTORICAL NOVEL.

* * * * *

The Black Wolf's Breed

BY HARRIS DICKSON.

* * * * *

A vigorous tale of France in the old and new world during the reign of Louis XIV.—Boston Globe.

As delightfully seductive as certain mint-flavored beverages they make down South.—Philadelphia Press.

The sword-play is great, even finer than the pictures in "Two Have and To Hold."—Los Angeles Herald.

As fine a piece of sustained adventure as has appeared in recent fiction.—San Francisco Chronicle.

There is action, vivid description and intensely dramatic situations.—St. Louis Globe-Democrat.

So full of tender love-making, of gallant fighting that one regrets it's no longer.—Indianapolis News.

12 mo., Illustrated by C.M. Relyea,

Price $1.50

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis



A FINE STORY of the COWBOY AT HIS BEST.

* * * * *

WITH HOOPS OF STEEL

By FLORENCE FINCH KELLY.

* * * * *

"The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul With Hoops of Steel."

"With Hoops of Steel," is issued in handsome style, with several striking pictures in colors by Dan Smith, by The Bowen-Merrill Company of Indianapolis, a Western publishing house that has a long record of recent successes in fiction. This firm seems to tell by instinct what the public wants to read, and in Mrs. Kelly's case it is safe to say that no mistake has been made. Western men and women will read because it paints faithfully the life which they know so well, and because it gives us three big, manly fellows, fine types of the cowboy at his best. Eastern readers will be attracted by its splendid realism.—San Francisco Chronicle.

Mrs. Kelly's character stands out from the background of the New Mexican plains, desert and mountain with all the distinctness of a Remington sketch or of the striking colored illustrations drawn for the book by Dan Smith. It is not alone in the superb local coloring or the vivid character work that "With Hoops of Steel" is a notable book. The incidents are admirably described and full of interest, and the movement of the story is continuous and vigorous. The action is spirited and the climaxes dramatic. The plot is cleverly devised and carefully unfolded. After finishing the book one feels that he has just seen the country, has mingled with the characters and has been a witness of the incidents described.—Denver Times.

12 mo. with six illustrations, in color, by Dan Smith

Price, $1.50

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis



A NOVEL OF EARLY NEW YORK.

* * * * *

PATROON VAN VOLKENBERG

BY HENRY THEW STEPHENSON.

* * * * *

The action of the story begins when New York was a little city of less than 5,000 inhabitants. The conflict between the law-abiding citizens, led by the Governor, Earl Bellamont, and the merchants, headed by Patroon Van Volkenberg, is at its height.

The Governor has forbidden the port to the free traders or pirate ships, which infested the Atlantic and sailed boldly under their own flag; while the Patroon and his merchant colleagues not only traded openly with the buccaneers, but owned and managed such illicit craft.

The atmosphere of the tale is fresh in fiction, the plot is stirring and well knit, and the author is possessed of the ability to write forceful, fragrant English.

12 mo., Illustrated in color

by C.M. Relyea, Price $1.50

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis



FUN FROM BOB BURDETTE.

* * * * *

Chimes From a Jester's Bells

* * * * *

A volume of humorous and pathetic stories and sketches. By Robert J. Burdette. Beautifully illustrated, bound in uniform style with Bill Nye's "A Guest at the Ludlow."

12 mo., cloth ornamental, illustrated.

Price $1.25

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis

THE END