While Caroline Was Growing

ll. "Caroline!" The insistent voice rang louder; it was a very determined voice. A sleepy Angora cat scowled reprovingly at its violence; a gray and pin

," a sleepy contralto, rich as creamy chocol

bility of her. Her father wants her to read a little history ever

t for hist

notice! She's been at that since breakf

l, anyhow," drawled the

re as bad as the

fourtee

n! What

n it's you, Sis. You talk

ou saw her riding that don

he's a baby, the next she's a gr

ith-that

areback and standing up!-when I was f

You always were a tomboy, Deedee!

away, sheltering under a heavy

swoop of laughter. Their voices took up a happy canon o

ehensible Moonstone: that she had heard the calls and resented them the scowl between her eyebrows exhibited. Behind her, patiently at graze

ross to the piazza, nodded to herself at th

sake, don't bray, Rose-Marie, and perhaps we can get away. I wouldn't dare ge

. Selecting a dozen thoughtfully, she added them to the donkey's load, and they went on at a foot pace, through the slowly reddening Baldwins and seek-no-furthers, the tiny lady-apples and the king-of-Tompkins-counties, through the belt of dead, warped fruit trees, blighted and gray-"like those Doré pictures," she murmured to Rose-Marie-down three, crumbling brick steps, where the little fellow picked his way as daintily as a careful l

ublic!" she muttered a

winked symp

ny novel" (with startling mimicry of the p

ty; only a slight stir among

rp elbows on Rose-Marie's hairy back and threw her weigh

lar roads through the trees, like the

ng, hairy ears meditati

s and short-cuts-why not? they all know them. He may be running home by a back way, now, to call his children t

y at some sunny flicker, some dappled pattern of leaf work; her ears were filled with the forest drone, the mysterious mu

ushed on. The wood grew thicker; now and then Rose-Marie had to forc

to-day and see where it goes, to the very end. It must go somewhere. Where do th

disgustedly as he slipped among the gnarled roots; the apples bumped and slid in the pannier. After a while Caroline stopped under a tree, ate

losophically, "and now we'll start again. I'l

o a genuine country road, stretching far to left and right of them. It was a new country to Caroline; she found no landmarks whatever. The road glared with heat, the dust was powdery,

cried pettishly, shifting from one long leg to the other, shrugging

d shook his head vaguely. Gnats buzzed about his flexible

to take me home, you know! Tired or not. It feels as if i

ell sweep, she perceived suddenly a white farm house. It stood alone, neighborless and

roline, "and farms usually have cookies. If there are an

f these. Clear and white with the faded whiteness of old New England white shingles, it drowsed under its elms; a fire of nasturtiums smoldered along the broken, flagged path that led to it; phlox and "Bouncing Bets" crowded

shing the door open gently, she stepped in and stood surprised, for she found herself not in the stiff, unused country "parlor" she had expected, but a neat bedroom. A quaint four-poster with a fluted valance, a polished mahogany chest of drawers, a stand by

as carpeted with faded oilcloth, but rag rugs, washed dim and soft-toned, lay here and there, and the room was so large th

stand with books, a sewing basket, oil lamps for evening reading, all not too far from brick-shaped pans where unmistakable bread rose under a

t the hollow of her tired back, covered with a clean, homely pat

y rock into the waiting blue. Another world, a delicious, smooth element-Romance itself-received her, and o

or disturbed her, and instinc

he bedroom and a slender, angry-eyed yo

something t

hite diamond, booted and hatted as one who wears and throws away, with a bag of golden mesh on her wrist to pay the price of any whim-it could not be that she doubted what answer she should receive. And yet she did-did, and had before this: so much was evident at first si

, as Caroline stared. "I'm

standing in a faint cloud of subtle perfume of her own; her sleeves were too short and her heavy shoes knobby and worn

vely; "my car broke down-the man left it in the road and w

coldly. "I'm waiting for someone to come, myself

ign little shrug of her shoulder and settled herself in a low rocking chair near the bread, her hands loose in her lap. The old clock ticked reprovingly through the hot and conscio

kitchen. She was a large, good-looking woman, middle-aged, and not weak, evidently, for she managed her chair easily with one hand; the other held a slice of pink ham on a white platter in her lap. Her face, under a placid parting of grayish fair hair, was rather high colored than of an invalid pallor, her chest broad and deep, her blue eyes at once kind a

she cried eagerly; "how

r; the girl was undoubtedly a "young lady." He

eat it comfortable, and I sit down to table just's if the family was all here. There's some that believe in a bite and a bit, when the men folks are out, but I never did. And then-" she blushed shyly like a girl-"I always

t honest pleasure the fog and anger in the room rolled back like mist under a noon sun,

don't

ess was across the room and

r saw one before, that I remember. Aren't thos

like a dog at her call, and she of the wheel ch

Italy," said the older gir

e arms of her chair and stared at the nervous little jewel

taly?" she cried ea

r Europe," said the girl indiff

he woman who

Caroline; instinct taught her

been out of Lockwood'

edulity pushed ou

aid brusquely, "t

reason that she did not realize it, and Caroline suddenly felt less embarrassed by her. Girls of that age were too old to talk so pettishly to p

York, haven't you?

I was seventeen. I'm a pretty heavy woman, you know

of room in a d

t afford that," sai

hed furiously. How horrid it all was! But

ago, so I know they're all right-and some summer apple sauce; 'tain't much, with summer apples, but I put in lemon peel and a taste o' last year's cider-it makes a relish, anyhow; and I've got some fine sweet

ve to larder. As the pink ham curled and sputtered in its savory jui

tle about Italy, while w

places-it's awfully cold, too. I wore my furs a lot of the time. It

randfather was born right in the Corners. In eighty-eight we were snowed up a week here. Mr. Winterpine-that's my husband-had bronchitis, and he couldn't get out

ently and her guests

e," Gold-bag volunteered. "If it hadn't been for J. G. we'd h

ired respectfully, her skillet full of p

didn't dare die," she continued, with a hard l

?" asked Caro

. It was as if one had said "Edward Seve

o's

ng. I suppose you know who h

ne said carelessly, "are you a

ed emphatically, "and I don't know where you've lived not to kno

woman admitted; "but then, you know, we don't

or ten days that hasn't had his na

embled an incredible array of sweets and relishes in odd, thick little

s Corners Clarion," sh

er plea for tidings of those distant, rosy lands whose laden wharves she could never see, nor ever glimpse their tiled roofs under foreign sunsets, their white spires beneath mysterious moons. Their clothes: was it true that the French wore wooden shoes? She had read t

n, she had roamed the world with the tireless "J. G." From Panama to Alaska, from Cairo to Christiania, with her uncreased Paris frocks and the discontented

father 'J. G.'?" Carol

better? That's his other name,

red-shirted miner, with the very gift of gold under his matted hair, the scent for it in his blunt nostrils, the feel for it in his callous finger tips. Klondike Jim! He had made for his Klondike

ney and more money. Ri

opper under Fifth Avenue,

ud of him," said Mrs.

irl answered, with he

ar, my

come from? Will a sapphire bracelet answer me that, do you think? Who knows us? 'Miss Maddy Money Bags'! How long do you think I'd stay in that convent? Who d

ng you've done, dear! What th

it like-well, I just hate it," she conc

n kitchen struck the woman suddenly. "You don't mean

it?" queried M

"You see, it's my home," she began.

s the idea. What's the use of traveling if you can't come home? And we

s slipped from her like so many petticoats and left her thin and cold between them, warm as they were in their solid homespun of kin and he

h the instinctive courtesy of the home-trained child, but drew back at her shaken head and waving finger, and followed her glance toward her o

the girl rose, stood meekly while a checked apron was tied about her waist and received the moist,

air was aware of it, as when a threatened thunderstorm goes by above and dissipates in wind. Feeling this, Mrs. Winterpin

the pictures of those Arabian men with white turbans, and the South Sea Islanders riding on surf boards-I can see 'em now. There was a castle fo

aroline, vibrant as a wind harp to such suggestion, the splash of the water in the tin was the very tinkle of Undine's m

g idol that sits cross-legged, all made of brass, and smiling; and such funny drums and pipes-creepy music. The heathens brought wreaths and s

her towels and cloths in a small wooden tub bound with tin. The

before a square high Dutch affair with a ridiculous pictu

was a Swedenborgian, I believe. She used to have trances and she could tell you where things were l

live he

I were second cousins-and I well remember Uncle Milton Winterpine coming home from Java to die in his bed. He was a sailor, and how I u

and we got his boots off and helped him to bed. He never left it. He brought me a parrot, that trip, sort of indigo color and pink. It used to set me thinking of the hot countries and

O line always asks me to come and see it. Then he proposes. J. G.

ed from the tongue of this chair-bound woman in her farmhouse prison; and from the blind, unhappy voyager came halting, telegraphic phrases: climate and train schedules and over-lavish fees, miles and meals a

er step with him-mascot or no mascot. He wants to go over the Himalayas-to start next week-he has an i

e her knuckles gripped the arms of t

red. Her eyes fell t

"I knew a man who didn't have any legs, even, that we

aroline and this seemed to bring her into some so

she said, breathlessly yet; "but-but-for a mo

aid lightly; "he'll do very well, won't he? One man c

s rootless, aimless bubble skipping over the bottomless deeps of life, brough

eep breast; "we haven't any children. And he's not much to take

y. "Then we'll take him alo

push close to the girl and laid one hand on

ff to the Himalaya Mountains like that! It takes him a long time to make up his mind. He-he don't care for travel, besides. He's a

m New York to-morrow! I'll bring some pictures, too. The Alps and Venice and t

ow...." the woman

to go?" Madeline

Winterpine

hy don'

e for travel? We can't do as we like in this world-we don't live alone.

eavy red. Her light confidence dr

" she said sullen

e country quiet. A great rattle of g

go. It's fifteen miles to Ogdenville, and a vile roa

ed to t

ggle, a visible effort at thought for another, an attempt to grasp an alien point of view, dawned in the

aid her hostess, and wheeling q

woman sat in silence. At last Rose-Marie yawned

oberly; "I have to go home. They'll be

ompany. Wonderful. He'll be interested. But you run right on: don't let the folks wo

. They vanished into its depths, and Mrs. Winterpine sat and watched them kindly f

that young one,

n advertisements of a few

ETC., BY

OSGOOD

rated cloth b

a Commuter's W

t product of our land, a home where love of books and love of nature go hand in h

he Whirlpoo

of the true values of things, its clever pen pictures of people and customs, and it

oman

fictional presentation of an important modern question, treated with fasc

Sign of

h a genuine love of nature, and there is fun as genui

den, Yo

eviewer, whose only garden is in Spain.... The delightful humor which pervaded the earlier books, a

dow. Tales o

the sophistication of th

f the Po

rily stimulating ... its genial entirety refresh

lower Hat

plexity Book of Barba

MILLAN

4-66 Fifth A

ONA

illage Cloth

ardly knows whether laughter or tears are fittest for his emotions.... This book especially makes for higher thinki

whole; an orchestra of strings, be it added, for even the Proudfits' motor fails to introduce a note of brass....

ndividualities have been crystallized into distinct outlines by their limited environments and intimate relations. The book is happily opti

leas and Etarre

icism nor gray in utilitarianism, Miss Gale's charming love stories, full of fresh

he book like a golden autumnal haze which dims the outlines of common things and beautifies them.... The

d together.... Its picture of steadfast love in old ag

ISHE

MILLAN

th Avenue

LANE ALL

oth, 12m

oir In

special edition illustra

. Allen stands to-day in the front rank of American novelists. The Choir Invisible will solidify a reputation already established and bring into clear

A Tale of the Ke

ess for spiritual suggestion that makes all his stories rich in the qualities that are lacking in so many novels of t

le of th

day fiction. Our principal concern is that it is a notable novel, that it ranks high in the range of American and English fiction, and that it is worth

y. A Tale of Na

fe in its descriptions, dramatic, pathetic, tragic, in its incidents; indeed, a veritable masterpiece that must become classic. It i

er St

s Region of K

s Region of K

, and Other Kent

of the Mis

ardinal. Ill

uel to "A Kentuc

MILLAN

4-66 FIFTH AV

T HERRICK

, gilt tops,

pel of

l life, in a broad and very much up-to-date sense, that has e

eb of

American life, and uses them to strengthen a web of fiction

Real

, the strange dreamlike quality of life to the man who has not yet fought his own battles, or come i

Comm

human soul the reader watches ... the finest study of human

an American Cit

ty drawings by

to reflecting a certain kind of recognizable, contemporaneou

document of startling significance. More than any other writ

ge

arriage. Yet Mr. Herrick's interesting new novel only begins there; the best brief

MILLAN

4-66 FIFTH AV