SPRING I. For more than a week my pen has lain untouched.  I have written nothing for seven whole days, not even a letter.  Except during one or two bouts of illness, such a thing never happened in my life before.  In my life; the life, that is, which had to be supported by anxious toil; the life which was not lived for living’s sake, as all life should be, but under the goad of fear.  The... more...

CHAPTER I The summer day in 1874 which closed the annual session of Whitelaw College was marked by a special ceremony, preceding the wonted distribution of academic rewards. At eleven in the morning (just as a heavy shower fell from the smoke-canopy above the roaring streets) the municipal authorities, educational dignitaries, and prominent burgesses of Kingsmill assembled on an open space before the... more...