At night, about the usual time he was dining in town, Mrs. Halliday insisted that Sally should go to bed, as she herself did, which, of course, left Don no alternative but to go himself. There was no possible object in his remaining up after Sally was out of sight. But the early morning belonged to her and to him. At dawn he rose and when he came downstairs, he found her waiting for him. Though Mrs. Halliday protested that Sally was losing her beauty sleep she was not able to produce any evidence to prove it. If any one could look any fresher or more wonderful than Sally, as she stepped out of the house by his side into the light of the newborn day, then there was no sense in it, because, as she was then, she filled his eyes and his heart to overflowing. She wore no hat, but except for this detail he was never conscious of how she was dressed. There was always too much to occupy him in her brown eyes, in her mouth, which, while losing nothing of its firmness, had acquired a new gentleness. He had always thought of her lips as cold, but he knew them better now. At the bend in the road where he had kissed her first, he kissed her again every morning. She always protested. That was instinctive. But in the end she submitted, because it always seemed so many hours since she had seen him last, and because she made him understand that not until the next day could he expect this privilege.

"What's the use of being engaged if I can't kiss you as often as I wish?" he demanded once.

"We're engaged in order to be married," she explained.

"And after we are married—"

"You wait and see," she answered, her cheeks as red as any schoolgirl's.

"But that's three days off," he complained.

Even to her, happy as she was, confident as she was, the interval to Saturday sometimes seemed like a very long space of time. For one thing, she felt herself at night in the grip of a kind of foreboding absolutely foreign to her. Perhaps it was a natural reaction from the high tension of the day, but at night she sometimes found herself starting to her elbow in an agony of fear. Before the day came, something would happen to Don, because such happiness as this was not meant for her. She fell a victim to all manner of wild fears and extravagant fancies. On the second night there was a heavy thunderstorm. She did not mind such things ordinarily. The majesty of the darting light and the rolling crash of the thunder always thrilled her. But this evening the sky was blotted out utterly and quick light shot from every point of the compass at once. As peal followed peal, the house shook. Even then it was not of herself she thought. She had no fear except for Don. This might be the explanation of her foreboding. It happened, too, that his room was beneath the big chimney where if the house were hit the bolt would be most apt to strike. Dressing hastily in her wrapper and bedroom slippers, she stole into the hall. A particularly vicious flash illuminated the house for a second and then plunged it into darkness. She crept to Don's very door. There she crouched, resolved that the same bolt should kill them both. There she remained, scarcely daring to breathe until the shower passed.

It was a silly thing to do. When she came back to her own room, her cheeks were burning with shame. The next morning she was miserable in fear lest he discover her weakness. He did not, though he marveled at a new tenderness in her that had been born in the night.

The fourth day broke fair and Don found himself busy until noon helping with the decorations of green and of wild flowers; for though only a dozen or so neighbors had been asked, Mrs. Halliday was thorough in whatever she undertook. Had she been expecting a hundred she could have done no more in the way of preparation except perhaps to increase the quantity of cake and ices.

Don himself had asked no one except old Barton, of Barton & Saltonstall, and him he did not expect, although he had received no reply to his invitation. What, then, was his surprise when toward the middle of the forenoon, as he was going into the house with an armful of pine boughs, he heard a voice behind him,—

"How do, Don?"

Turning, he saw Barton in a frock coat and a tall hat that he might have worn last at Pendleton, Senior's, wedding.

"For Heaven's sake!" exclaimed Don, dropping his pine boughs on the doorstep and rushing to meet him. "I call this mighty good of you."

"I could hardly do less for Pendleton's boy," answered Barton.

"Well, sir, you're mighty welcome. Come right in. Oh, Sally," he called.

Sally came on the run, not knowing what had happened. She wore a calico apron and had not found time to do her hair since morning. It was not exactly the costume she would have chosen in which first to meet Mr. Barton. Her cheeks showed it.

"Sally," said Don, "this is Mr. Barton—my father's lawyer. Mr. Barton, this is Miss Winthrop."

Barton bowed low with old-fashioned courtesy. Then he allowed his keen gray eyes to rest a moment upon hers.

"I am very glad to meet you," he said.

"Will you come in?" she asked. "I'm afraid the house is very much in disorder just now, but I want you to meet my aunt."

Mrs. Halliday was scarcely more presentable than Miss Winthrop, but the latter found a certain relief in that fact.

"I'm glad to know you," Mrs. Halliday greeted him cordially.

But what to do with him at just this time was a problem which would have baffled her had he not solved it for himself.

"Please don't let me interrupt the preparations," he begged. "I should not have ventured here—at just this time—except that I wanted to see Don about a few legal matters."

"Mr. Barton," explained Don to Sally, "is the man who had the pleasant duty thrust upon him of telling me that I was cut off without a cent."

"It was an unpleasant duty," nodded Barton, "but I hope it may be my good fortune to make up for that."

"I'm afraid the only place you can sit is on the front doorstep," laughed Sally.

"As good a place as any," answered Don, leading the way.

"Well," asked Don good-naturedly as soon as they were seated there, "what's the trouble now? I tell you right off it's got to be something mighty serious to jar me any at just this time."

"There was still another codicil to your father's will," explained Barton at once—"a codicil I have not been at liberty to read to you until now. It had, in fact, no point except in the contingency of your marriage."

"I hope you aren't going to take the house away from me," scowled Don.

"No," answered Barton slowly. "It has to do rather with an additional provision. The substance of it is that in case you married any one—er—meeting with my approval, you were to be given an allowance of two thousand a year."

"Eh?"

"Two thousand a year. After that, one thousand a year additional for each child born of that marriage until the total allowance amounts to five thousand dollars. At that point the principal itself is to be turned over to you."

"Oh, Sally!" called Don.

She came running again. It was still four hours before they would be safely married and many things might happen in four hours.

"Sit down here and listen to this," he commanded. "Now, do you mind saying that all over again?"

Barton repeated his statement.

"What do you think of that?" inquired Don. "It's just as though I had my salary raised two thousand a year. Not only that—but the rest is up to you."

"Don!"

"Well, it is."

"And besides," she gasped, "Mr. Barton has not yet said he approves."

Mr. Barton arose.

"May I say that at once?" he smiled. "I do not think I have always given Don as much credit for his good judgment as I feel he should have been given."

"Good old Barton!" choked Don.

"There's one thing more," said Barton—"a—a little present for myself."

He handed Don an envelope.

"Thank you, sir," said Don, thrusting it unopened in his pocket. "And now it seems to me the least the bride can do is to let you kiss her."

"I'm not a bride yet," answered Sally demurely, "but—"

She came to Barton's side and he kissed her on the cheek.

"It's too bad that Pendleton couldn't have lived to know his son's wife," he said.

A little later Don gave Sally the envelope to open. It contained a check for five hundred dollars.

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Don, "we're rolling in wealth. I guess when we get back to town we'll have to buy a car."

"When we get back to town we'll open a bank account," corrected Sally.



CHAPTER XXXIII

A BULLY WORLD

As Sally came down the stairs at a quarter of three in her white silk wedding gown the wonder was how, after a morning of such honest hard work as she had put in, it was possible for her to look so fresh. Many a town bride, after spending the entire morning resting in preparation for such an event, has at the last moment failed to turn up with such apple-red cheeks or brilliant eyes. There was a gently serious expression about her mouth, to be sure, but that was not due to fatigue. In spite of her light-heartedness during the last few days she had been all the while keenly conscious that she was accepting a great responsibility. She was about to marry not only a lover, but a man whose future was to be in her keeping. Among other things he was to be a future partner in the firm of Carter, Rand & Seagraves, and that meant several years of very hard work ahead of them. Then there were the secret responsibilities—the unborn responsibilities. These were not very definite, to be sure, but she felt them, timidly, gravely, in queer little tuggings at her heart.

When finally she stood in front of the clergyman with Don by her side, she felt, not that she was in a bower of wild flowers, but before an altar. The ritual for her had a deeply religious significance. She made her responses in a steady voice heard by every one in the room. When she made the promise "to love, cherish, and obey," she spoke it as though she meant it. It did not disturb her in the slightest to utter the word "obey," because she knew well that whatever commands came to her from Don would be of her own inspiring. To her this promise was no more than an agreement to obey her own best impulses.

The service seemed almost too brief for so solemn an undertaking, but when it was over, she reached for Don's hand and took it in a hearty grip that was more of a pledge than the ring itself. It sent a tingle to his heart and made his lips come together—the effect, a hundred times magnified, of the coach's slap upon the back that used to thrill him just before he trotted on the field before a big game. He felt that the harder the obstacles to be overcome for her dear sake, the better. He would like to have had a few at that moment as a relief to his pent-up emotions.

He remembered in a sort of impatient daze the congratulations that followed—with the faces of Mrs. Halliday and Barton standing out a trifle more prominently—and then the luncheon. It seemed another week before she went upstairs to change into her traveling-dress; another week before she reappeared. Then came good-byes and the shower of rice, with an old shoe or so mixed in. He had sent her trunk the day before to the mountain hotel where they were to be for a week, but they walked to the station, he carrying her suitcase. Then he found himself on the train, and in another two hours they were at the hotel. It was like an impossible dream come true when finally they stood for the first time alone—she as his wife. He held out his arms to her and she came this time without protest.

"Heart of mine," he whispered as he kissed her lips again and again,—"heart of mine, this is a bully old world."

"You've made it that, Don."

"I? I haven't had anything to do about it except to get you."



CHAPTER XXXIV

DON MAKES GOOD

They had not one honeymoon, but two or three. When they left the hotel and came back to town, it was another honeymoon to enter together the house in which she had played so important a part without ever having seen it. When they stepped out of the cab she insisted upon first seeing it from the outside, instead of rushing up the steps as he was for doing.

"Don," she protested, "I—I don't want to have such a pleasure over with all at once. I want to get it bit by bit."

There was not much to see, to be sure, but a door and a few windows—a section similar to sections to the right and left of which it was a part. But it was a whole house, a house with lower stories and upper stories and a roof—all his, all hers. To her there was something still unreal about it.

He humored her delay, though Nora was standing impatiently at the door, anxious to see the Pendleton bride. But when she finally did enter, Nora, at the smile she received, had whatever fears might have been hers instantly allayed.

"Gawd bless ye," she beamed.

Sally refused to remove her wraps until she had made her inspection room by room, sitting down in each until she had grasped every detail. So they went from the first floor to the top floor and came back to the room which he had set apart for their room.

"Does it suit you, wife of mine?" he asked.

With the joy of it all, her eyes filled.

"It's even more beautiful than I thought it would be," she trembled.

For him the house had changed the moment she stepped into it. With his father alive, it had been his father's home rather than his; with his father gone, it had been scarcely more than a convenient resting-place. There had been moments—when he thought of Frances here—that it had taken on more significance, but even this had been due to Sally. When he thought he was making the house ready for another, it had been her dear hand who had guided him. How vividly now he recalled that dinner at the little French restaurant when he had described his home to her—the home which was now her home too. It was at that moment she had first made her personality felt here.

Sally removed her hat and tidied her hair before the mirror in quite as matter-of-fact a fashion as though she had been living here ever since that day instead of only the matter of a few minutes. When she came downstairs, Nora herself seemed to accept her on that basis. To her suggestions, she replied, "Yes, Mrs. Pendleton," as glibly as though she had been saying it all her life.

They returned on a Saturday. On Monday Don was to go back to the office. Sally had sent in her resignation the day of her marriage and had received nice letters from both Carter and Farnsworth, with a check enclosed from the former for fifty dollars and from the latter for twenty-five dollars.

"What I'll have to do," said Don, as he retired Sunday night, "is to get a larger alarm-clock. It won't do to be late any more."

"You're right," agreed Sally. "But you won't need an alarm-clock."

"Eh?"

"You wait and see."

Sally was awake at six the next morning and Don himself less than one minute after.

"Time to get up," she called.

"I'm sleepy," murmured Don.

"Then to-morrow night you'll get to bed one hour earlier. But—up with you."

"Right-o," he answered as he sprang from bed. "But there's no need of your getting up."

"I'd be ashamed of myself if I didn't."

She had breakfast with him that first work morning as she planned to do every morning of her life after that.

"Now, Don," she warned as he was ready to leave, "mind you don't say anything about a raise in salary for a little while yet. I know Farnsworth, and he'll give it to you the moment he feels you've made good. Besides, we can afford to wait and—I don't know as I want you to have any more money than you have now. It's ridiculous for you to have that two thousand from your father."

"I guess we can use it, little woman," he laughed.

"We can save it," she insisted. "And, of course, it's pretty nice to have an emergency fund, only it sort of takes half the fun out of life to be so safe."

"It takes half the worry with it, too," he reminded her.

She thought a moment. Then she kissed him.

"Maybe it's good for people to worry a bit," she answered.

"You've already done your share," he returned. "You're going to meet me for lunch at twelve?"

"Yes, Don."

"Sure?"

"Of course, it's sure."

"I wish it were twelve now."

"You're not to think of me again until twelve comes—not once. You're to tend to business."

"I know, but—"

She kissed him again.

"Along with you."

She took his arm and led him to the door and there—where, for all he cared, the whole street might have seen him—he turned quickly and kissed her once more.

Don was decidedly self-conscious when he stepped briskly into the office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves, with a brave attempt to give the impression that nothing whatever out of the ordinary had happened to him during his brief vacation. But Blake, as he expressed it to her later, was there with bells on. He spied him the moment he came through the door and greeted him with a whistled bar from the "Wedding March." Not content with that, he tore several sheets of office stationery into small bits and sprinkled him with it. He seemed to take it as more or less of a joke.

"You certainly put one over on us," exclaimed Blake.

"Well, let it go at that," Don frowned.

He was willing to take the horse-play, but there was something in the spirit with which it was done that he did not like.

"Always heard bridegrooms were a bit touchy," returned Blake.

Don stepped nearer.

"Touchy isn't the word, Blake," he said; "proud comes nearer it. Remember that I'm proud as the devil of the girl you used to see here. Just base your future attitude toward her and me on that."

A few minutes later Farnsworth restored his good humor. As he came into the private office, Farnsworth rose and extended his hand.

"I want to congratulate you, Pendleton," he said sincerely.

"Thank you," answered Don.

"We feel almost as though we had lost a partner in the firm," he smiled. "But I'm mighty glad for both of you. She was fitted for something a whole lot bigger than Wall Street."

"She taught me all I know about the game," confessed Don.

"You couldn't have had a better teacher. Sit down. I want to talk over a change I have in mind."

Don felt his heart leap to his throat.

"I've wanted for some time another man to go out and sell," said Farnsworth. "Do you think you can handle it?"

"You bet," exclaimed Don.

Farnsworth smiled.

"You see," ran on Don in explanation, "I've been selling bonds to Sally—er—Mrs. Pendleton, for a month or more now."

"Selling her?"

"Imaginary bonds, you know."

Farnsworth threw back his head and laughed.

"Good! Good! But the true test will come when you try to sell her a real one. I'll bet it will have to be gilt-edged."

"And cheap," nodded Don.

"Well," said Farnsworth, "I want to try you on the selling staff for a while, anyway. Now, about salary—"

"Sally told me to forget that," said Don.

"I guess because she knew me well enough to know I wouldn't forget it. My intention is to pay men in this office what they are worth. Just what you may be worth in your new position I don't know, but I'm going to advance you five hundred; and if you make good you'll be paid in proportion as you make good. That satisfactory?"

"Absolutely."

"Then we're off," concluded Farnsworth.

Don met Sally at noon at the dairy lunch where they had gone so often.

"Come on, little woman," he greeted her. "This place may be all right for the wife of a clerk, but now you're the wife of a bond salesman."

"Don!"

"On a five-hundred-dollar raise."

"We'll stay right here," she said; "but I'm going to celebrate by having two chocolate eclairs."



CHAPTER XXXV

"HOME, JOHN"

In December of the following year Frances came into her mother's room one afternoon, drawing on her gloves.

"Your new gown is very pretty," her mother said. "Where are you calling?"

"I have bridge at the Warrens' at four," she answered. "But I thought I might have time before that to drop in at Don's. He has telephoned me half a dozen times to call and see his baby, and I suppose he'll keep on until I go."

"You really ought to go."

Frances became petulant. "Oh, I know it, but—after all, a baby isn't interesting."

"They say it's a pretty baby. It's a boy, isn't it?"

"I don't know. Why don't you come along with me?"

"I'm not dressed, dear, but please to extend my congratulations."

"Yes, mother."

As John started to close the door of the limousine, Frances glanced at her watch.

"I wish to call at Mr. Pendleton's, but I must be at the Warrens' at four promptly. How much time must I allow?"

"A half hour, Miss."

"Very well, John."

Nora took her card, and came back with the request that she follow upstairs. "The baby's just waked up," Nora said.

Frances was disappointed. If she had to see a baby, she preferred, on the whole, seeing it asleep.

Mrs. Pendleton came to the nursery door with the baby in her arms—or rather a bundle presumably containing a baby.

"It's good of you to come," she smiled. "I think he must have waked up just to see you."

She spoke unaffectedly and with no trace of embarrassment, although when Nora presented the card she had for a second become confused. She had hoped that Don would be at home when this moment came.

"You're sure it's convenient for me to stay?" questioned Frances uneasily.

"Quite," answered Mrs. Pendleton. "I—I want you to see him when he's good-natured."

She crossed the room to the window, and removed a layer of swaddling clothes very gently. And there, revealed, lay Don, Jr. His face was still rather red, and his nose pudgy; but when he opened his eyes Frances saw Don's eyes. It gave her a start.

"He has his father's eyes," said the mother.

"There's no doubt of that," exclaimed Frances.

"And his nose—well, he hasn't much of any nose yet," she smiled.

"He seems very small—all over."

"He weighed ten pounds this morning," said the mother.

Don, Jr., was waving his arms about, rather feebly, but with determination.

"He is very strong," the mother informed her. "Don declares that he has all the earmarks of a football player."

It seemed odd to hear this other speak so familiarly of Don. Frances glanced up quickly—and met Mrs. Pendleton's eyes. It was as if the two challenged each other. But Frances was the first to turn away.

"Would you like to hold him a minute?" asked Mrs. Pendleton.

Frances felt her breath coming fast.

"I'm afraid I'd be clumsy."

"Hold out your arms and I'll put him in them."

Frances held out her arms, and Mrs. Pendleton gently laid the baby across them.

"Now hold him up to you," she said.

Frances obeyed. The sweet, subtle aroma of his hair reached her. The subtle warmth of his body met hers. As the mystic eyes opened below her eyes, a crooning lullaby hidden somewhere within her found its way to her throat and there stuck. She grew dizzy and her throat ached. Don, Jr., moved uneasily.

"He wants to come back now," said the mother as she took him.

"Good-bye," whispered Frances. "I may come again?"

"Come often," smiled Mrs. Pendleton.

Frances tiptoed from the room, and tiptoed all the way downstairs and through the hall.

As she stepped into the limousine, she said to John: "Home, please."

"But you said you must be at the Warrens' at four," John respectfully reminded her.

She sank back wearily in the seat.

"Home, John, please," she repeated.

THE END



ZANE GREY'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list

THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS

A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of frontier warfare. Her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is captured by bandits. A surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close.

THE RAINBOW TRAIL

The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great western uplands—until at last love and faith awake.

DESERT GOLD

The story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with the finding of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl who is the story's heroine.

RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE

A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon authority ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of the story.

THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN

This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, known as the preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert and of a hunt in "that wonderful country of deep canons and giant pines."

THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT

A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young New Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall become the second wife of one of the Mormons—Well, that's the problem of this great story.

THE SHORT STOP

The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and fortune as a professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start are followed by such success as clean sportsmanship, courage and honesty ought to win.

BETTY ZANE

This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful young sister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers.

THE LONE STAR RANGER

After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw along the Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds a young girl held prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings down upon himself the wrath of her captors and henceforth is hunted on one side by honest men, on the other by outlaws.

THE BORDER LEGION

Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless Western mining camp, to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she loved him—she followed him out. On her way, she is captured by a bandit band, and trouble begins when she shoots Kells, the leader—and nurses him to health again. Here enters another romance—when Joan, disguised as an outlaw, observes Jim, in the throes of dissipation. A gold strike, a thrilling robbery—gambling and gun play carry you along breathlessly.

THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS,

By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey

The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," as told by his sister and Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and his first encounter with an Indian. We see "Bill" as a pony express rider, then near Fort Sumter as Chief of the Scouts, and later engaged in the most dangerous Indian campaigns. There is also a very interesting account of the travels of "The Wild West" Show. No character in public life makes a stronger appeal to the imagination of America than "Buffalo Bill" whose daring and bravery made him famous.

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KATHLEEN NORRIS' STORIES

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MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.

This book has a fairy-story touch, counterbalanced by the sturdy reality of struggle, sacrifice, and resulting peace and power of a mother's experiences.

SATURDAY'S CHILD.

Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes.

Out on the Pacific coast a normal girl, obscure and lovely, makes a quest for happiness. She passes through three stages—poverty, wealth and service—and works out a creditable salvation.

THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE.

Illustrated by Lucius H. Hitchcock.

The story of a sensible woman who keeps within her means, refuses to be swamped by social engagements, lives a normal human life of varied interests, and has her own romance.

THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE.

Frontispiece by Allan Gilbert.

How Julia Page, reared in rather unpromising surroundings, lifted herself through sheer determination to a higher plane of life.

THE HEART OF RACHAEL.

Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers.

Rachael is called upon to solve many problems, and in working out these, there is shown the beauty and strength of soul of one of fiction's most appealing characters.

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"K." Illustrated.

K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that has known him, and goes to live in a little town where beautiful Sidney Page lives. She is in training to become a nurse. The joys and troubles of their young love are told with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which has made the author famous.

THE MAN IN LOWER TEN.

Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.

An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of the "Man in Lower Ten." The strongest elements of Mrs. Rinehart's success are found in this book.

WHEN A MAN MARRIES.

Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker.

A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that his aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the family income and who has never seen the wife, knows nothing of the domestic upheaval. How the young man met the situation is humorously and most entertainingly told.

THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. Illus. by Lester Ralph.

The summer occupants of "Sunnyside" find the dead body of Arnold Armstrong, the son of the owner, on the circular staircase. Following the murder a bank failure is announced. Around these two events is woven a plot of absorbing interest.

THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS.

Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.)

Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, suddenly realizes that her money is almost gone. She meets a young ambitious doctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together with world-worn Dr. Anna and Jimmie, the waif, they share their love and slender means.

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER

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MICHAEL O'HALLORAN, Illustrated by Frances Rogers.

Michael is a quick-witted little Irish newsboy, living in Northern Indiana. He adopts a deserted little girl, a cripple. He also assumes the responsibility of leading the entire rural community upward and onward.

LADDIE. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer.

This is a bright, cheery tale with the scenes laid in Indiana. The story is told by Little Sister, the youngest member of a large family, but it is concerned not so much with childish doings as with the love affairs of older members of the family. Chief among them is that of Laddie and the Princess, an English girl who has come to live in the neighborhood and about whose family there hangs a mystery.

THE HARVESTER. Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs.

"The Harvester," is a man of the woods and fields, and if the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man it would be notable. But when the Girl comes to his "Medicine Woods," there begins a romance of the rarest idyllic quality.

FRECKLES. Illustrated.

Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love story with "The Angel" are full of real sentiment.

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The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, loveable type of the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage.

AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. Illustrations in colors.

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May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.

LAVENDER AND OLD LACE.

A charming story of a quaint corner of New England, where bygone romance finds a modern parallel. The story centers round the coming of love to the young people on the staff of a newspaper—and it is one of the prettiest, sweetest and quaintest of old-fashioned love stories.

MASTER OF THE VINEYARD.

A pathetic love story of a young girl, Rosemary. The teacher of the country school, who is also master of the vineyard, comes to know her through her desire for books. She is happy in his love till another woman comes into his life. But happiness and emancipation from her many trials come to Rosemary at last. The book has a touch of humor and pathos that will appeal to every reader.

OLD ROSE AND SILVER.

A love story,—sentimental and humorous,—with the plot subordinate to the character delineation of its quaint people and to the exquisite descriptions of picturesque spots and of lovely, old, rare treasures.

A WEAVER OF DREAMS.

This story tells of the love affairs of three young people, with an old-fashioned romance in the background. A tiny dog plays an important role in serving as a foil for the heroine's talking ingeniousness. There is poetry, as well as tenderness and charm, in this tale of a weaver of dreams.

A SPINNER IN THE SUN.

An old-fashioned love story, of a veiled lady who lives in solitude and whose features her neighbors have never seen. There is a mystery at the heart of the book that throws over it the glamour of romance.

THE MASTER'S VIOLIN.

A love story in a musical atmosphere. A picturesque, old German virtuoso consents to take for his pupil a handsome youth who proves to have an aptitude for technique, but not the soul of an artist. The youth cannot express the love, the passion and the tragedies of life as can the master. But a girl comes into his life, and through his passionate love for her, he learns the lessons that life has to give—and his soul awakes.

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York



BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.

No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal young people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of the time when the reader was Seventeen.

PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant.

This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a finished, exquisite work.

PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm.

Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishness that have ever been written.

THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.

Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a fine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success.

THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece.

A story of love and politics,—more especially a picture of a country editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love interest.

THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.

The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister.

Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York



SEWELL FORD'S STORIES

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

SHORTY McCABE. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.

A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigorous thinker, sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way.

SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY.

Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.

Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy with human nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for "side-stepping with Shorty."

SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB.

Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.

Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up to the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a "conscience fund," and gives joy to all concerned.

SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS.

Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.

These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at swell yachting parties.

TORCHY. Illus. by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg.

A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to the youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the story of his experiences.

TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.

Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in the previous book.

ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.

Torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was," but that young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people apart, which brings about many hilariously funny situations.

TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.

Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary for the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and infectious American slang.

WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown.

Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West Coast, in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust and with his friend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's permission to place an engagement ring on Vee's finger.

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York



JACK LONDON'S NOVELS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

JOHN BARLEYCORN. Illustrated by H. T. Dunn.

This remarkable book is a record of the author's own amazing experiences. This big, brawny world rover, who has been acquainted with alcohol from boyhood, comes out boldly against John Barleycorn. It is a string of exciting adventures, yet it forcefully conveys an unforgettable idea and makes a typical Jack London book.

THE VALLEY OF THE MOON. Frontispiece by George Harper.

The story opens in the city slums where Billy Roberts, teamster and ex-prize fighter, and Saxon Brown, laundry worker, meet and love and marry. They tramp from one end of California to the other, and in the Valley of the Moon find the farm paradise that is to be their salvation.

BURNING DAYLIGHT. Four illustrations.

The story of an adventurer who went to Alaska and laid the foundations of his fortune before the gold hunters arrived. Bringing his fortunes to the States he is cheated out of it by a crowd of money kings, and recovers it only at the muzzle of his gun. He then starts out as a merciless exploiter on his own account. Finally he takes to drinking and becomes a picture of degeneration. About this time he falls in love with his stenographer and wins her heart but not her hand and then—but read the story!

A SON OF THE SUN. Illustrated by A. O. Fischer and C. W. Ashley.

David Grief was once a light-haired, blue-eyed youth who came from England to the South Seas in search of adventure. Tanned like a native and as lithe as a tiger, he became a real son of the sun. The life appealed to him and he remained and became very wealthy.

THE CALL OF THE WILD. Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin and Charles Livingston Bull. Decorations by Charles E. Hooper.

A book of dog adventures as exciting as any man's exploits could be. Here is excitement to stir the blood and here is picturesque color to transport the reader to primitive scenes.

THE SEA WOLF. Illustrated by W. J. Aylward.

Told by a man whom Fate suddenly swings from his fastidious life into the power of the brutal captain of a sealing schooner. A novel of adventure warmed by a beautiful love episode that every reader will hail with delight.

WHITE FANG. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull.

"White Fang" is part dog, part wolf and all brute, living in the frozen north; he gradually comes under the spell of man's companionship, and surrenders all at the last in a fight with a bull dog. Thereafter he is man's loving slave.

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York

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