Sons and Fathers

by Harry Stillwell Edwards

  CHAPTER LVII.

  FRAGMENTARY LIFE RECORDS.

  The records of John Morgan's life are fragmentary. It was only byjoining the pieces and filling in the gaps that his friends obtained aclear and rounded conception of his true character and knew at last thereal man.

  Born about 1820, the only son of a wealthy and influential father, hispossibilities seemed almost unlimited. To such a youth the peculiarsystem of the South gave advantages not at that time afforded by anyother section. The South was approaching the zenith of its power; itsslaves did the field work of the whole people, leaving their ownersleisure for study, for travel and for display. Politics furnished thepopular field for endeavor; young men trained to the bar, polished bystudy and foreign travel and inspired by lofty ideals of government,threw themselves into public life, with results that have become now apart of history.

  At 22, John Morgan was something more than a mere promise. He hadgraduated with high honors at the Virginia University and returning homehad engaged in the practice of law--his maiden speech, delivered in amurder case, winning for him a wide reputation. But at that criticalperiod a change came over him. To the surprise of his contemporaries heneglected his growing practice, declined legislative honors andgradually withdrew to the quiet of Ilexhurst, remaining in strictretirement with his mother.

  The life of this gentlewoman had never been a very happy one; refinedand delicate she was in sharp contrast to her husband, who, from thehandsome, darkhaired gallant she first met at the White Sulphur Springs,soon developed into a generous liver, with a marked leaning towardsstrong drink, fox-hunting and cards. As the wife, in the crucible oflife, grew to pure gold, the grosser pleasures developed the elderMorgan out of all likeness to the figure around which clung her girlishmemories.

  But Providence had given to her a boy, and in him there was a promise ofhappier days. He grew up under her care, passionately devoted to thebeautiful mother, and his triumphs at college and at the bar broughtback to her something of the happiness she had known in dreams only.

  The blow had come with the arrival of Rita Morgan's mother. From thattime John Morgan devoted himself to the lonely wife, avoiding thesociety of both sexes. His morbid imagination pictured his mother andhimself as disgraced in the eyes of the public, unconscious of the factthat the public had but little interest in the domestic situation atIlexhurst, and no knowledge of the truth. He lived his quiet life by herside in the little room at home, and when at last, hurt by his horse,the father passed away, he closed up the house and took his motherabroad for a stay of several years. When they returned life went on verymuch as before.

  But of the man who came back from college little was left, aside from anindomitable will and a genius for work. He threw himself into thepractice of his profession again, with a feverish desire for occupation,and, bringing to his aid a mind well stored by long years of reflectionand reading, soon secured a large and lucrative practice.

  His fancy was for the criminal law. No pains, no expense was too greatfor him where a point was to be made. Some of his witnesses in notedcases cost him for traveling expense and detectives double his fee. Hekept up the fight with a species of fierce joy, his only moments ofelation, as far as the public knew, being the moments of victory.

  So it was that at 40 years of age John Morgan found himself with areputation extending far beyond the state and with a practice that lefthim but little leisure. It was about this time he accidentally metMarion Evan, a mere girl, and felt the hidden springs of youth rise inhis heart. Marion Evan received the attentions of the great criminallawyer without suspicion of their meaning.

  When it developed that he was deeply interested in her she wasastonished and then touched. It was until the end a matter of wonder toher that John Morgan should have found anything in her to admire andlove, but those who looked on knowingly were not surprised. Of gentleways and clinging, dependent nature, varied by flashes of her father'sfire and spirit, she presented those variable moods well calculated todazzle and impress a man of Morgan's temperament. He entered upon hiscourtship with the same carefulness and determination that marked hislegal practice, and with the aid of his wealth and reborn eloquencecarried the citadel of her maiden heart by storm. With misgivings AlbertEvan yielded his consent.

  But Marion Evan's education was far from complete. The mature loverwished his bride to have every accomplishment that could add to herpleasure in life; he intended to travel for some years and she was notat that time sufficiently advanced in the languages to interpret therecords of the past. Her art was of course rudimentary. Only in vocalmusic was she distinguished; already that voice which was to developsuch surprising powers spoke its thrilling message to those who couldunderstand, and John Morgan was one of these.

  So it was determined that Marion should for one year at least devoteherself to study and then the marriage would take place. Where to sendher was the important question, and upon the decision hinges thisnarrative.

  Remote causes shape our destinies. That summer John Morgan took hismother abroad for the last time and in Paris chance gave himacquaintance with Gaspard Levigne, a man nearly as old as himself.Morgan had been touched and impressed by the unchanging sadness of aface that daily looked into his at their hotel, but it is likely that hewould have carried it in memory for a few weeks only had not the owner,who occupied rooms near his own, played the violin one night while hesat dreaming of home and the young girl who had given him her promise.He felt that the hidden musician was saying for him that which had beencrying out for expression in his heart all his life. Upon the impulse ofthe moment he entered this stranger's room and extended his hand.Gaspard Levigne took it. They were friends.

  During their stay in Paris the two men became almost inseparablecompanions. One day Gaspard was in the parlor of his new friend, whenJohn Morgan uncovered upon the table a marble bust of his fiancee andbriefly explained the situation. The musician lifted it in wonder andstudied its perfections with breathless interest. From that time henever tired of the beautiful face, but always his admiration was mute.His lips seemed to lose their power.

  The climax came when John Morgan, entering the dim room one evening,found Gaspard Levigne with his face in his hands kneeling before themarble, convulsed with grief. And then little by little he told hisstory. He was of noble blood, the elder son of a family, poor but proudand exclusive. Unto him had descended, from an Italian ancestor, thegenius of musical composition and a marvelous technique, while hisbrother seemed to inherit the pride and arrogance of the Silesian sideof the house, with about all the practical sense and business abilitythat had been won and transmitted.

  He had fallen blindly in love with a young girl beneath him in thesocial scale, and whose only dowry was a pure heart and singularlyperfect beauty. The discovery of this situation filled the family withalarm and strenuous efforts were made to divert the infatuated man, butwithout changing his purpose. Pressure was brought to bear upon thegirl's parents, with better success.

  Nothing now remained for Gaspard but an elopement, and this he planned.He took his brother into his confidence and was pleased to find himafter many refusals a valuable second. The elopement took place andassisted by the brother he came to Paris. There his wife had diedleaving a boy, then nearly two years old.

  Then came the denouement; the marriage arranged for him had been amockery.

  It was a fearful blow. He did not return to his home. Upon him had beensaddled the whole crime.

  When the story was ended Gaspard went to his room and brought back alittle picture of the girl, which he placed by the marble bust. Morganread his meaning there; the two faces seemed identical. The picturewould have stood for a likeness of Marion Evan, in her father's hands.

  The conduct of Gaspard Levigne upon the discovery of the cruel fraud wassuch as won the instant sympathy of the American, whose best years hadbeen sacrificed for his mother. The musician had not returned to Breslauand exposed the treachery of the brother who was the idol of hisparents; he suff
ered in silence and cared for the child in aninstitution near Paris. But John Morgan went and quietly verified thefacts. He engaged the ablest counsel and did his best to find a way toright the wrong.

  Then came good Mrs. Morgan, who took the waif to her heart. He passedfrom his father's arms, his only inheritance a mother's picture, ofwhich his own face was the miniature.

  Months passed; Gaspard Levigne learned English readily, and one moreresult of the meeting in Paris was that John Morgan upon returning toAmerica had, through influential friends, obtained for Levigne alucrative position in a popular American institution, where instrumentaland vocal music were specialties.

  It was to this institution that Marion Evan was sent, with resultsalready known.

  The shock to John Morgan, when he received from Marion a pitiful letter,telling of her decision and marriage, well-nigh destroyed him. The minddoes not rally and reactions are uncertain at 40. In the moment of hisdespair he had torn up her letters and hurled her likeness in marble farout to the deepest part of the lake. Pride alone prevented him followingit. And in this hour of gloom the one remaining friend, his mother,passed from life.

  The public never knew his sufferings; he drew the mantle of silence alittle closer around him and sank deeper into his profession. He soonbecame known as well for his eccentricities as for his genius; andpresently the inherited tendency toward alcoholic drinks found him aneasy victim. Another crisis in his life came a year after the downfallof his air castle, and just as the south was preparing to enter upon herfatal struggle.

  The mother of Rita had passed away, and so had the young woman'shusband. Rita had but recently returned to Ilexhurst, when one night shecame into his presence drenched with rain and terrorized by thefierceness of an electrical storm then raging. Speechless fromexhaustion and excitement she could only beckon him to follow. Upon thebed in her room, out in the broad back yard, now sharing with itsoccupant the mud and water of the highway, her face white and herdisordered hair clinging about her neck and shoulders, lay theinsensible form of the only girl he had ever loved--Marion Evan, as hestill thought of her. He approached the bed and lifted her cold handsand called her by endearing names, but she did not answer him. Rita, thestruggle over had sunk into semi-consciousness upon the floor.

  When the family physician had arrived John Morgan had placed Rita uponthe bed and had borne the other woman in his arms to the mother's roomupstairs, and stood waiting at the door. While the genial oldpractitioner was working to restore consciousness to the young womanthere, a summons several times repeated was heard at the front door.Morgan went in person and admitted a stranger, who presented a card thatbore the stamp of a foreign detective bureau. Speaking in French thelawyer gravely welcomed him and led the way to the library. Thedetective opened the interview:

  "Have you received my report of the 14th inst., M. Morgan?"

  "Yes. What have you additional?"

  "This. Mme. Levigne is with her husband and now in this city." Morgannodded his head.

  "So I have been informed." He went to the desk and wrote out a check."When do you purpose returning?"

  "As soon as possible, monsieur; to-morrow, if it pleases you."

  "I will call upon you in the morning; to-night I have company thatdemands my whole time and attention. If I fail, here is your check. Youhave been very successful."

  "Monsieur is very kind. I have not lost sight of Mme. Levigne in nearlya year until to-night. Both she and her husband have left their hotel;temporarily only I presume." The two men shook hands and parted.

  Upstairs the physician met Morgan returning. "The lady will soon be allright; she has rallied and as soon as she gets under the influence ofthe opiate I have given and into dry clothes, will be out of danger. Butthe woman in the servant's house is, I am afraid, in a criticalcondition."

  "Go to her, please," said Morgan quickly. Then entering the room he tooka seat by the side of the young woman--her hand in his. Marion lookedupon his grave face in wonder and confusion. Neither spoke. Her eyesclosed at last in slumber.

  Then came Mamie Hester, the old woman who had nursed him, one of thosefamily servants of the old South, whose lips never learned how to betraysecrets.

  * * * * *

  The sun rose grandly on the morning that Marion left Ixlexhurst. Shepushed back her heavy veil, letting its splendor light up her pale faceand gave her hand in sad farewell to John Morgan. Its golden beamsalmost glorified the countenance of the man; or was it the light from agreat soul shining through?

  "A mother's prayers," she said brokenly. "They are all that I can give."

  "God bless and protect you till we meet again," he said, gently.

  She looked long and sadly toward the eastern horizon in whose belt ofgray woodland lay her childhood home, lowered her veil and hurried away.A generation would pass before her feet returned upon that gravel walk.

  CHAPTER LVIII.

  "THE LAST SCENE OF ALL"

  Mary slept.

  The blind woman, who had for awhile sat silent by her side, slowlystroking and smoothing the girl's extended arm, nodded, her chin restingupon her breast.

  Cambia alone was left awake in the room, her mind busy with its past.The light was strong; noiselessly she went to the little table to lowerit. There, before her, lay a violin's antique case. As her gaze fellupon it, the flame sank under her touch, leaving the room almost in theshadow. The box was rounded at the ends and inlaid, the central designbeing a curiously interwoven monogram. Smothering an exclamation, sheseized it in her arms and listened, looking cautiously upon hercompanions. The elder woman lifted her head and turned sightless eyestoward the light, then passed into sleep again.

  She went back eagerly to the box and tried its intricate fastenings; butin the dim light they resisted her fingers, and she dare not turn up theflame again.

  From the veranda in front came the murmur of men's voices; the house wassilent. Bearing the precious burden Cambia went quickly to the hallwayand paused for a moment under the arch that divided it. Overhead,suspended by an invisible wire, was a snow-white pigeon with wingsoutspread; behind swayed in the gentle breeze the foliage of the trees.She stood for a moment, listening; and such was the picture presented toEdward as he clutched the arm of his companion and leaned forward withstrained eyes into the light.

  Guided by the adjuncts of the scene he recognized at once a familiardream. But in place of the girl's was now a woman's face.

  Another caught a deeper meaning at the same instant, as the general'ssuppressed breathing betrayed.

  Cambia heard nothing; her face was pale, her hand trembling. In thelight descending upon her she found the secret fastenings and the lidopened.

  Then the two men beheld a strange thing; the object of that nervousaction was not the violin itself. A string accidentally touched by hersparkling ring gave out a single minor note that startled her, but onlyfor a second did she pause and look around. Pressing firmly upon a spotnear the inner side of the lid she drew out a little panel of wood andfrom the shallow cavity exposed, lifted quickly several folded papers,which she opened. Then, half rising, she wavered and sank back faintingupon the floor. The silence was broken. A cry burst from the lips of theold general.

  "Marion! My child." In an instant he was by her side lifting andcaressing her. "Speak to me, daughter," he said. "It has been long, solong. That face, that face! Child, it is your mother's as I saw it last.Marion, look up; it is I, your father." And then he exclaimeddespairingly, as she did not answer him, "She is dead!"

  "It is not serious, General," said Edward hurriedly. "See, she isreviving." Cambia steadied herself by a supreme effort and thrust backthe form that was supporting her.

  "Who calls Marion?" she cried wildly. "Marion Evan is dead! Cambia isdead! I am the Countess Levigne." Her voice rang out in the hall and herclenched hand held aloft, as though she feared they might seize them,the papers she had plucked from the violin case. Then her eyes met thegeneral's; she paused in wonder
and looked longingly into his aged face.Her voice sank to a whisper: "Father, father! Is it indeed you? You atlast?" Clinging to the hands extended toward her she knelt and buriedher face in them, her form shaking with sobs. The old man's tall figureswayed and trembled.

  "Not there, Marion, my child, not there. 'Tis I who should kneel! Godforgive me, it was I who--"

  "Hush, father, hush! The blame was mine. But I have paid for it withagony, with the better years of my life.

  "But I could not come back until I came as the wife of the man I loved;I would not break your heart. See! I have the papers. It was myhusband's violin." She hid her face in his bosom and let the tears flowunchecked.

  Edward was standing, white and silent, gazing upon the scene; he couldnot tear himself away. The general, his voice unsteady, saw him at last.A smile broke through his working features and shone in his tearfuleyes:

  "Edward, my boy, have you no word? My child has come home!" Marionlifted her face and drew herself from the sheltering arms with suddenenergy.

  "Edward," she said, gently and lovingly. "Edward!" Her eyes grew softerand seemed to caress him with their glances. She went up to him andplaced both hands upon his shoulders. "His child, and your mother!"

  "My mother, my mother!" The words were whispers. His voice seemed tolinger upon them.

  "Yes! Cambia, the unhappy Marion, the Countess Levigne and your mother!No longer ashamed to meet you, no longer an exile! Your mother, free tomeet your eyes without fear of reproach!"

  She was drawing his cheek to hers as she spoke. The general had comenearer and now she placed the young man's hand in his.

  "But," said Edward, "Gerald! You called him your son!" She clasped herhands over her eyes and turned away quickly. "How can it be? Tell me thetruth?" She looked back to him then in a dazed way. Finally a suspicionof his difficulty came to her. "He was your twin brother. Did you notknow? Alas, poor Gerald!"

  "Ah!" said the old man, "it was then true!"

  "Mother," he said softly, lifting her face to his, "Gerald is at peace.Let me fulfill all the hopes you cherished for both!"

  "God has showered blessings upon me this night," said the generalbrokenly. "Edward!" The two men clasped hands and looked into eachother's eyes. And, radiant by their side, was the face of Cambia!

  At this moment, Mary, who had been awakened by their excited voices, herhand outstretched toward the wall along which she had crept, came andstood near them, gazing in wonder upon their beaming faces. With a boundEdward reached her side and with an arm about her came to Cambia.

  "Mother," he said, "here is your daughter." As Cambia clasped herlovingly to her bosom he acquainted Mary with what had occurred. Andthen, happy in her wonder and smiles, Edward and Mary turned away anddiscussed the story with the now fully awakened little mother.

  "And now," said he, "I can ask of you this precious life and be your sonindeed!" Mary's head was in her mother's lap.

  "She has loved you a long time, Edward; she is already yours."

  Presently he went upon the veranda, where father and daughter wereexchanging holy confidences, and, sitting by his mother's side, heardthe particulars of her life and bitter experience abroad.

  "When Mr. Morgan went to you, father, and stated a hypothetical case andoffered to find me, and you, outraged, suffering, declared that I couldonly return when I had proofs of my marriage, I was without them. Mr.Morgan sent me money to pay our expenses home--Gaspard's and mine--andwe did come, he unwilling and fearing violence, for dissipation hadchanged his whole nature. Then, he had been informed of my one-timeengagement to Mr. Morgan, and he was well acquainted with that gentlemanand indebted to him for money loaned upon several occasions. He came toAmerica with me upon Mr. Morgan's guaranty, the sole condition imposedupon him being that he should bring proofs of our marriage; and had hecontinued to rely upon that guaranty, had he kept his word, there wouldhave been no trouble. But on the day we reached this city he gave way totemptation again and remembered all my threats to leave him. In ourfinal interview he became suddenly jealous, and declared there was aplot to separate us, and expressed a determination to destroy theproofs.

  "It was then that I determined to act, and hazarded everything upon adesperate move. I resolved to seize my husband's violin, not knowingwhere his papers were, and hold it as security for my proofs. I thoughtthe plan would succeed; did not his love for that instrument exceed allother passions? I had written to Rita, engaging to meet her on a certainnight at a livery stable, where we were to take a buggy and proceed toIlexhurst. The storm prevented. Gaspard had followed me, and at thechurch door tore the instrument from my arms and left me insensible.Rita carried me in her strong arms three miles to Ilexhurst, and it costher the life of the child that was born and died that night.

  "Poor, poor Rita! She herself had been all but dead when my boys wereborn a week later, and the idea that one of them was her own was thesingle hallucination of her mind. The boys were said to somewhatresemble her. Rita's mother bore a strong resemblance to Mrs. Morgan'sfamily, as you have perhaps heard, and Mrs. Morgan was related to ourfamily, so the resemblance may be explained in that way. Mr. Morgannever could clear up this hallucination of Rita's, and so the matterrested that way. It could do no harm under the circumstances, andmight--"

  "No harm?" Edward shook his head sadly.

  "No harm. You, Edward, were sent away, and it was early seen that poorGerald would be delicate and probably an invalid. For my troubles, myflight, had--. The poor woman gave her life to the care of my children.Heaven bless her forever!"

  Gambia waited in silence a moment and then continued:

  "As soon as I could travel I made a business transaction of it, andborrowed of my friend, John Morgan. He had acquainted me with theconditions upon which I should be received at home; and now it wasimpossible for me to meet them. Gaspard was gone. I thought I could findhim; I never did, until blind, poor, aged and dying, he sent for me."

  "John Morgan was faithful. He secured vocal teachers for me in Paris andthen an engagement to sing in public. I sang, and from that night mymoney troubles ended.

  "Mr. Morgan stayed by me in Paris until my career was assured. Then, inobedience to his country's call he came back here, running the blockade,and fought up to Appomattox."

  "As gallant a fire-eater," said the general, "as ever shouldered a gun.And he refused promotion on three occasions."

  "I can readily understand that," said Cambia. "His modesty was onlyequaled by his devotion and courage.

  "He visited me again when the war ended, and we renewed the search.After that came the Franco-Prussian war, the siege of Paris and thecommune, destroying all trails. But I sang on and searched on. When Iseemed to have exhausted the theaters I tried the prisons. And so theyears passed by.

  "In the meantime Mr. Morgan had done a generous thing; never for amoment did he doubt me." She paused, struggling with a sudden emotion,and then: "He had heard my statement--it was not like writing, Father,he had heard it from my lips--and when the position of my boys becameembarrassing he gave them his own name, formally adopting them while hewas in Paris."

  "God bless him!" It was the general's voice.

  "And after that I felt easier. Every week, in all the long years thathave passed, brought me letters; every detail in their lives was knownto me; and of yours, Father. I knew all your troubles. Mr. Morganmanaged it. And," she continued softly, "I felt your embarrassments whenthe war ended. Mr. Morgan offered you a loan--"

  "Yes, but I could not accept from him--"

  "It was from me, Father; it was mine; and it was my money that cared formy boys. Yes," she said, lifting her head proudly, "Mr. Morganunderstood; he let me pay back everything, and when he died it was mymoney, held in private trust by him, that constituted the bulk of thefortune left by him for my boys. I earned it before the footlights, buthonestly!

  "Well, when poor Gaspard died--"

  "He is dead, then?"

  "Ah! of course you do not know. To-morrow I will tell
you his story. Istood by his body and at his grave, and I knew Edward. I had seen himmany times. Poor Gerald! My eyes have never beheld him since I took himin my arms that day, a baby, and kissed him good--" She broke down andwept bitterly. "Oh, it was pitiful, pitiful!"

  After awhile she lifted her face.

  "My husband had written briefly to his family just before death, theletter to be mailed after; and thus they knew of it. But they did notknow the name he was living under. His brother, to inherit the title andproperty, needed proof of death and advertised in European papers forit. He also advertised for the violin. It was this that suggested to methe hiding place of the missing papers. Before my marriage Gaspard hadonce shown me the little slide. It had passed from my memory. ButCambia's wits were sharper and the description supplied the link. I wentto Silesia and made a trade with the surviving brother, giving up myinterest in certain mines for the name of the person who held theviolin. Gaspard had described him to me in his letter as a youngAmerican named Morgan. The name was nothing to the brother; it waseverything to me. I came here determined, first to search for thepapers, and, failing in that, to go home to you, my father. God hasguided me."

  She sat silent, one hand in her father's, the other clasped lovingly inher son's. It was a silence none cared to break. But Edward, from timeto time, as his mind reviewed the past, lifted tenderly to his lips thehand of Cambia.

  * * * * *

  Steadily the ocean greyhound plowed its way through the dark swells ofthe Atlantic. A heavy bank of clouds covered the eastern sky almost tothe zenith, its upper edges paling in the glare of the full moon slowlyascending beyond.

  The night was pleasant, the decks crowded. A young man and a young womansat by an elderly lady, hand in hand. They had been talking of a journeymade the year previous upon the same vessel, when the ocean sang a newsweet song. They heard it again this night and were lost in dreams, whenthe voice of a well-known novelist, who was telling a story to a charmedcircle, broke in:

  "It was my first journey upon the ocean. We had been greatly interestedin the little fellow because he was a waif from the great Parisianworld, and although at that time tenderly cared for by the gentle womanwho had become his benefactress, somehow he seemed to carry with himanother atmosphere, of loneliness--of isolation. Think of it, amotherless babe afloat upon the ocean. It was the pathos of life madevisible. He did not realize it, but every heart there beat in sympathywith his, and when it was whispered that the little voyager was dead, Ithink every eye was wet with tears. Dead, almost consumed by fever. Withhim had come the picture of a young and beautiful woman. He took it withhim beneath the little hands upon his breast. That night he was laid torest. Never had motherless babe such a burial. Gently, as though therewere danger of waking him, we let him sink into the dark waters, thereto be rocked in the lap of the ocean until God's day dawns and the seasgive up their dead. That was thirty years ago; yet to-night I seem tosee that little shrouded form slip down and down and down into thedepths. God grant that its mother was dead."

  When he ceased the elder woman in the little group had bent her head andwas silently weeping.

  "It sounds like a page from the early life of Gaspard Levigne," she saidto her companions.

  And then to the novelist, in a voice brimming over with tenderness:"Grieve not for the child, my friend. God has given wings to love. Thereis no place in all His universe that can hide a baby from its mother.Love will find a way, be the ocean as wide and deep as eternity itself."

  And then, as they sat wondering, the moon rose above the clouds. Lightflashed upon the waves around them, and a golden path, stretching outahead, crossed the far horizon into the misty splendors of the sky.

  THE END.

  Writings of Harry Stillwell Edwards

  "Two Runaways" and other stories "His Defense" and other stories "The Marbeau Cousins" "Sons and Fathers" "Eneas Africanus" "Eneas Africanus, Defendant" "Just Sweethearts" "How Sal Came Through" "Brother Sim's Mistake" "Isam's Spectacles" "The Adventures of a Parrot" "Shadow"--A Christmas Story "The Vulture and His Shadow" "On the Mount" "Mam'selle Delphine"

  _Others of Our Interesting Books_ Not by Edwards

  "Another Miracle," by John D. Spencer "July"--A sketch of a real negro, by Bridges Smith "Sam Simple's First Trip to New Orleans" "B-Flat Barto"--A Saturday Evening Post Story "Big-Foot Wallace"--A Texas Story "Young Marooners," for boys and girls "Marooner's Island," for boys and girls "Reminiscences of Sidney Lanier," by George Herbert Clarke