CHAPTER I THE CROW’S NEST “You never told me how you happened to name her Blythe.” The two old friends, Mr. John DeWitt and Mrs. Halliday, were reclining side by side in their steamer-chairs, lulled into a quiescent mood by the gentle, scarcely perceptible, motion of the vessel. It was an exertion to speak, and Mrs. Halliday replied evasively, “Do you like the name?” “For Blythe,—yes. But I... more...

CHAPTER I. "You are the comfort of my life, Effie. If you make up your mind to go away, what is to become of me?" The speaker was a middle-aged woman. She was lying on a sofa in a shabby little parlor. The sofa was covered with horse-hair, the room had a faded paper, and faded chintz covered the shabby furniture. The woman's pleading words were emphasized by her tired eyes and worn face. She looked full at the young girl to whom she spoke.... more...

CHAPTER I WHEREIN ELNORA GOES TO HIGH SCHOOL AND LEARNS MANY LESSONS NOT FOUND IN HER BOOKS "Elnora Comstock, have you lost your senses?" demanded the angry voice of Katharine Comstock while she glared at her daughter. "Why mother!" faltered the girl. "Don't you 'why mother' me!" cried Mrs. Comstock. "You know very well what I mean. You've given me no peace until you've had your way about this going to school business; I've fixed you good... more...

CHAPTER I MISS NOBODY FROM NOWHERE The girls at Higbee School that term had a craze for marking everything they owned with their monograms. Such fads run through schools like the measles. Their clothing, books, tennis rackets, school-bags—everything that was possible—blossomed with monograms, more or less ornate. Of course, some girls’ initials offered a wider scope than others’ for the expression of artistic ideas;... more...

OPENING THE SCHOOL. Mrs. Merriman and Lucy were standing at the white gates of Sunnyside, waiting for the arrival of the girls. Mrs. Merriman had soft brown hair, soft brown eyes to match, and a kindly, gentle face. Lucy was somewhat prim, very neat in her person, with thick fair hair which she wore in two long plaits far below her waist, a face full of intensity and determination, and a slightly set and formal way of speaking. "Aren't you at... more...

CHAPTER IAN OLD-FASHIONED LITTLE PAIR. Sun and shower—sun and shower—Now rough, now smooth, is the winding way;Thorn and flower—thorn and flower—Which will you gather? Who can say?Wayward hearts, there's a world for your winning,Sorrow and laughter, love or woe:Who can tell in the day's beginningThe paths that your wandering feet shall go? —Mary Macleod. The village choir were practicing in the... more...

CHAPTER I THE DOYLES ARE ASTONISHED It was Sunday afternoon in Miss Patricia Doyle's pretty flat at 3708 Willing Square. In the small drawing room Patricia—or Patsy, as she preferred to be called—was seated at the piano softly playing the one "piece" the music teacher had succeeded in drilling into her flighty head by virtue of much patience and perseverance. In a thick cushioned morris-chair reclined the motionless form of Uncle... more...

AS FAR AS RIVERPORT. Two persons sat at a small breakfast-table near an open window, high up in Young's Hotel in Boston. It was a pleasant June morning, just after eight o'clock, and they could see the white clouds blowing over; but the gray walls of the Court House were just opposite, so that one cannot say much of their view of the world. The room was pleasanter than most hotel rooms, and the persons at breakfast were a girl of fifteen, named... more...

"Kate!" said Mrs. Lamb to her daughter, who was playing in the garden, in front of the house. "What do you want, mother?" replied the little girl, without even lifting her eyes from the ground, in which she was planting a marigold. I don't think any of my young readers regard this as a proper answer for a little girl to make to her mother; and I hope none of them ever speak to their parents in this manner. "Come into the house. I want you,"... more...

PART I—THE DAMSEL CHAPTER ONE—YOUNG POWELL AND HIS CHANCE I believe he had seen us out of the window coming off to dine in the dinghy of a fourteen-ton yawl belonging to Marlow my host and skipper.  We helped the boy we had with us to haul the boat up on the landing-stage before we went up to the riverside inn, where we found our new acquaintance eating his dinner in dignified loneliness at the head of a long table, white and... more...