“Hello, there! What in the name of reason is this?” The horseman’s excited cry was echoed by a startled neigh from his beast, which wheeled about so suddenly that he nearly precipitated both himself and rider into the gulch below. “Oh! I’m sorry––Hold on, Zu! Go! Do, please. Quick! It’s so narrow just beyond and I can’t––” The stranger obeyed, perforce, for his spirited animal having now headed up the slope, continued on his course at breakneck speed, pursued at equal pace by the unknown creature that had terrified him. The race would not have been so even had the trail been wider, for King Zulu could easily have beaten his contestant, but, as it was, the fleeing bay bruised his master’s leg against the canyon wall, now and then, while bits of the bird’s plumage were torn on the same projecting rocks. There was no point of passage till more than a mile higher on the mountain, and Jess knew this if Mr. Hale did not. He knew nothing save that he was clinging and riding for his life, and that this “Western horseback tour” which his doctor had prescribed for him, seemed now more likely to prove his death than his cure.

“Well, of all things!” exclaimed Mrs. Betty Calvert, shaking her white head and tossing her hands in a gesture of amazement. Then, as the letter she had held fell to the floor, her dark eyes twinkled with amusement and she smilingly demanded: “Dorothy, do you want an elephant?” The girl had been reading her own letters, just come in the morning’s mail, but she paused to stare at her great-aunt and to ask in turn: “Aunt Betty, what do you mean?” “Because if you do here’s the chance of your life to get one!” answered the old lady, motioning toward the fallen letter. Dolly understood that she was to pick it up and read it, and, having done so, remarked: “Auntie dear, this doesn’t say anything about an elephant, as I can see.” “Amounts to the same thing. The idea of a house-boat as a gift to a girl like you! My cousin Seth Winters must be getting into his dotage! Of course, girlie, I don’t mean that fully, but isn’t it a queer notion? What in the world can you, could you, do with a house-boat?”

Mrs. Benton and Jessica were upon the south porch of the Sobrante ranch house, the former busy as usual, the latter idly enjoying her charming surroundings as she swung to and fro in her hammock. Mighty vines of pale yellow roses, intermingled with climbing fuchsias, cast shade and sweetness over them; the porch was bordered by a wide swath of calla lilies, also in full flower, while just beyond these a great shrub of poinsettia dazzled the sight with its gleaming blossoms. When a momentary silence of the other’s nimble tongue allowed her to speak, Jessica exclaimed:

The “Erminie,” private car of “Railway Boss, Dan Ford,” stood side-tracked at Denver, and his guests within it were the happy people whom, some readers may remember, we left keeping a belated Christmas in the old adobe on the mesa, in southern California. To Dorothy, the trip thus far had been like a wonderful dream. “Just think, Alfy Babcock, of owning a real car, going and stopping just as you please, same’s riding in a carriage with horses! Even darling Aunt Betty, who’s been ’most everywhere and seen ’most everything, in her long life, never travelled ‘private coaching’ this way before. I hate to think it’s over, that I’ll have to say good-by to her so soon. Seems if I ought not. Seems if she’ll be dreadful lonesome without me all summer. I’m her own folks and I—I believe I shall go home with her after all, ’stead of into the mountains to that ranch with the Gray Lady.”

SAILING DOWN THE HUDSON «All aboard – what's goin'! All ashore – what ain't!»

This collection of literature attempts to compile many of the classic, timeless works that have stood the test of time and offer them at a reduced, affordable price, in an attractive volume so that everyone can enjoy them.

“Maryland, my Maryland!” dreamily hummed Dorothy Calvert. “Not only your Maryland, but mine,” was the resolute response of the boy beside her. Dorothy turned on him in surprise. “Why, Jim Barlow, I thought nothing could shake your allegiance to old New York state; you’ve told me so yourself dozens of times, and—” “I know, Dorothy; I’ve thought so myself, but since my visit to old Bellvieu, and our trip on the houseboat, I’ve—I’ve sort o’ changed my mind.” “You don’t mean that you’re coming to live with Aunt Betty and I again, Jim? Oh, you just can’t mean that! Why, we’d be so delighted!” “No, I don’t mean just that,” responded Jim, rather glumly—“in fact, I don’t know just what I mean myself, except I feel like I must be always near you and Mrs. Calvert.” “Say Aunt Betty, Jim.” “Well, Aunt Betty.”

Nobody except Miss Lucy Armacost would have thought of starting an orphan asylum with one orphan. Even she might not have done it but for Molly Johns. As for Molly, she never dreamed of such a thing. She was just careering down the avenue one windy afternoon in early December, upon one roller skate, and Miss Lucy was just coming up the block, walking rather unsteadily upon her two small feet. The dear little old lady was so tiny and so timid, and the wind so big and boisterous, that even without the accident she would have had difficulty in climbing the slope to her big house on the corner.

“Margot! Margot!” Mother Angelique’s anxious call rang out over the water, once, twice, many times. But, though she shaded her brows with her hands and strained her keen ears to listen, there was no one visible and no response came back to her. So she climbed the hill again and, reëntering the cabin, began to stir with almost vicious energy the contents of a pot swinging in the wide fireplace. As she toiled she muttered and wagged her gray head with sage misgivings. “For my soul! There is the ver’ bad hoorican’ a-comin’, and the child so heedless. But the signs, the omens! This same day I did fall asleep at the knitting and waked a-smother. True, ’twas Meroude, the cat, crouched on my breast; yet what sent her save for a warning?”

Marsden was one of the few villages of our populous country yet left remote from any line of railway. The chief events of its quiet days were the morning and evening arrivals and departures of the mail-coach, whose driver still retained the almost obsolete custom of blowing a horn to signal his approach. All Marsden favored the horn, it was so convenient and so—so antique! which word typified the spirit of the place. For if modest Marsden had any pride, it was in its own unchanging attitude toward modern ways and methods. So, whenever Reuben Smith's trumpet was heard, the villagers knew it was time to leave their homes along the main street and repair to the "general store and post-office" for the mail, which was their strongest connecting link with the outside world.

"Hello! How-de-do?" This salutation was so sudden and unexpected that Dorothy Chester jumped, and rising from the grass, where she had been searching for wild strawberries, beheld a row of pink sunbonnets behind the great stone wall. Within the sunbonnets were three equally rosy faces, of varying sizes, each smiling broadly and each full of a friendly curiosity. It was from the biggest face that the voice had come, and Dorothy responded with a courteous "Good-morning!" then waited for further advances. These came promptly. "I'm Alfaretta Babcock; this one's Baretta Babcock; and this other one, she's Claretta Babcock. The baby that's to home and can't walk yet—only just creep—she's Diaretta Babcock."

Dorothy sat up in bed and looked about her. For a moment she did not realize where she was nor how she came to be in such a strange and charming room. Then from somewhere in the distance sounded a merry, musical voice, singing: “Old Noah of old he built an ark— One more river to cross! He built it out of hickory bark— One more riv——” The refrain was never finished. Dorothy was at the open window calling lustily: “Alfy! Alfy Babcock! Come right up here this very, very minute!” “Heigho, Sleepy Head! You awake at last? Well, I should think it was time. I’ll be right up, just as soon as I can put these yeller artemisias into Mis’ Calvert’s yeller bowl.”

Product Description: This collection of literature attempts to compile many of the classic works that have stood the test of time and offer them at a reduced, affordable price, in an attractive volume so that everyone can enjoy them.

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