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Ralph Connor
Ralph Connor was the pen name of Canadian author Charles William Gordon, known for his popular novels depicting life in the Canadian West. Born in 1860, Gordon was a Presbyterian minister whose works often intertwined themes of morality, adventure, and faith, reflecting his own religious background. His notable works include "The Sky Pilot" (1899) and "Glengarry School Days" (1902), which garnered widespread acclaim and contributed to the cultural identity of early 20th-century Canada.
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Ralph Connor
CHAPTER I THE COWARD Spring had come. Despite the many wet and gusty days which April had thrust in rude challenge upon reluctant May, in the glory of the triumphant sun which flooded the concave blue of heaven and the myriad shaded green of earth, the whole world knew to-day, the whole world proclaimed that spring had come. The yearly miracle had been performed. The leaves of the maple trees lining...
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Ralph Connor
CHAPTER I CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LUMBER CAMP It was due to a mysterious dispensation of Providence, and a good deal to Leslie Graeme, that I found myself in the heart of the Selkirks for my Christmas Eve as the year 1882 was dying. It had been my plan to spend my Christmas far away in Toronto, with such Bohemian and boon companions as could be found in that cosmopolitan and kindly city. But Leslie Graeme...
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Ralph Connor
CHAPTER I THE GAME "Forty-Love." "Game! and Set. Six to two." A ripple of cheers ran round the court, followed by a buzz of excited conversation. The young men smiled at each other and at their friends on the side lines and proceeded to change courts for the next set, pausing for refreshments on the way. "Much too lazy, Captain Jack. I am quite out of patience with you," cried a...
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Ralph Connor
THE OLD STONE MILL There were two ways by which one could get to the Old Stone Mill. One, from the sideroad by a lane which, edged with grassy, flower-decked banks, wound between snake fences, along which straggled irregular clumps of hazel and blue beech, dogwood and thorn bushes, and beyond which stretched on one side fields of grain just heading out this bright June morning, and on the other side a...
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Ralph Connor
Michael McGrath, Postmaster. Some men and some scenes so fasten themselves into one's memory that the years, with their crowding scenes and men, have no power to displace them. I can never forget "Ould Michael" and the scene of my first knowing him. All day long I rode, driving in front my pack-pony laden with my photograph kit, tent and outfit, following the trail that would end somewhere...
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Ralph Connor
CHAPTER I ONLY A MISSIONARY High upon a rock, poised like a bird for flight, stark naked, his satin skin shining like gold and silver in the rising sun, stood a youth, tall, slim of body, not fully developed but with muscles promising, in their faultless, gently swelling outline, strength and suppleness to an unusual degree. Gazing down into the pool formed by an eddy of the river twenty feet below...
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Ralph Connor
CHAPTER I THE SPELLING-MATCH The "Twentieth" school was built of logs hewn on two sides. The cracks were chinked and filled with plaster, which had a curious habit of falling out during the summer months, no one knew how; but somehow the holes always appeared on the boys' side, and being there, were found to be most useful, for as looking out of the window was forbidden, through these...
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Ralph Connor
CHAPTER I THE QUITTER "Oh-h-h-h, Cam-er-on!" Agony, reproach, entreaty, vibrated in the clear young voice that rang out over the Inverleith grounds. The Scottish line was sagging!—that line invincible in two years of International conflict, the line upon which Ireland and England had broken their pride. Sagging! And because Cameron was weakening! Cameron, the brilliant half-back, the...
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Ralph Connor
CHAPTER I THE FOOTHILLS COUNTRY Beyond the great prairies and in the shadow of the Rockies lie the Foothills. For nine hundred miles the prairies spread themselves out in vast level reaches, and then begin to climb over softly rounded mounds that ever grow higher and sharper till, here and there, they break into jagged points and at last rest upon the great bases of the mighty mountains. These rounded...
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Ralph Connor
A SOCIAL IMPOSSIBILITY It was one of November's rare days. The kindly air, vital with the breath of the north wind and mellow with the genial sun, was full of purple haze; the grass, still vividly green, gave no hint of the coming winter; the trees, bony and bare but for a few rags of summer dress, russet-brown and gold, stood softened of all their harshness in the purple haze and slanting, yellow...
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