CHAPTER I KITTY'S DINNER "Kitty-Cat Kitty is going away,Going to Grandma's, all summer to stay.And so all the Maynards will weep and will bawl,Till Kitty-Cat Kitty comes home in the fall." This affecting ditty was being sung with great gusto by King and Marjorie, while Kitty, her mood divided between smiles and tears, was quietly appreciative. The very next day, Kitty was to start for Morristown, to spend the summer with Grandma Sherwood,... more...

CHAPTER I JUST AN ARGUMENT "It's positively cruel!" pouted Jennie Allen, one of a group of girls occupying a garden bench in the ample grounds of Miss Stearne's School for Girls, at Beverly. "It's worse than that; it's insulting," declared Mable Westervelt, her big dark eyes flashing indignantly. "Doesn't it seem to reflect on our characters?" timidly asked DorothyKnerr. "Indeed it does!" asserted Sue Finley. "But here comes Mary Louise;... more...

CHAPTER ITHE MASS-MEETING One might reasonably think that "all Dorfield" had turned out to attend the much advertised meeting. The masses completely filled the big public square. The flaring torches, placed at set intervals, lighted fitfully the faces of the people—faces sober, earnest, thoughtful—all turned in the direction of the speakers' platform. Mr. Peter Conant, the Chairman, a prominent attorney of Dorfield, was introducing... more...

CHAPTER ITHE ARRIVAL "Is this the station, Gran'pa Jim?" inquired a young girl, as the train began to slow up. "I think so, Mary Louise," replied the handsome old gentleman addressed. "It does look very promising, does it?" she continued, glancing eagerly out of the window. "The station? No, my dear; but the station isn't Cragg's Crossing, you know; it is merely the nearest railway point to our new home." The conductor opened their... more...

CHAPTER I. I BEGIN LIFE. I was just nineteen years of age when I began my career as articled pupil with the Miss Bagshots of Albury Lodge, Fendale, Yorkshire. My father was a country curate, with a delicate wife and four children, of whom I was the eldest; and I had known from my childhood that the day must come in which I should have to get my own living in almost the only vocation open to a poor gentleman's daughter. I had been fairly... more...

CHAPTER I. IN A YEAR. The room fronted the west, but a black cloud, barred with red, robbed the hour of twilight's tranquil charm. Shadows haunted it, lurking in corners like spies set there to watch the man who stood among them mute and motionless as if himself a shadow. His eye turned often to the window with a glance both vigilant and eager, yet saw nothing but a tropical luxuriance of foliage scarcely stirred by the sultry air heavy with... more...

A New Neighbour. The night nurse was dusting the room preparatory to going off duty for the day, and Sylvia was lying on her water-bed watching her movements with gloomy, disapproving eyes. For four long weeks—ever since the crisis had passed and she had come back to consciousness of her surroundings—she had watched the same proceeding morning after morning, until its details had become almost unbearably wearisome to her weak nerves.... more...

CHAPTER FIRST. THINGS BEGIN TO HAPPEN. "A magician most profound in his art." It was Sunday afternoon. The griffins on the doorstep stared straight before them with an expression of utter indifference; the feathery foliage of the white birch swayed gently back and forth; the peonies lifted their crimson heads airily; the snowball bush bent under the weight of its white blooms till it swept the grass; the fountain splashed softly. "'By... more...

CHAPTER I THE CRASH ON THE HILL "Smooth as glass!" ejaculated Nan Sherwood, as she came in sight of Pendragon Hill and noted the gleaming stretch of snow and ice that ran down to the very edge of Lake Huron. "And you're the girl that said coasting time would never, never come," laughed her chum, Bess Harley, who was walking beside her with her hand on a rope attached to a bobsled that four girls were drawing. "Never is a long word," admitted... more...

First Chronicle. JACK O'LANTERN I Miss Miranda Sawyer's old-fashioned garden was the pleasantest spot in Riverboro on a sunny July morning. The rich color of the brick house gleamed and glowed through the shade of the elms and maples. Luxuriant hop-vines clambered up the lightning rods and water spouts, hanging their delicate clusters here and there in graceful profusion. Woodbine transformed the old shed and tool house to things of beauty, and... more...