Fanny Barry

CHAPTER I. It was a village of fountains. They poured from the sides of houses, bubbled up at street corners, sprang from stone troughs by the roadside, and one even gushed from the very walls of the old Church itself, and fell with a monotonous tinkle into a carved stone basin beneath. The old Church stood on a high plateau overlooking the lake. It jutted out so far, on its great rock, that it seemed... more...