J. Morris Slemons - "The Prospective Mother"

Doris Stevens - "Jailed for Freedom"

Annie Payson Call - "Nerves and Common Sense"

Talbot Mundy - "The Ivory Trail"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Long Vacation

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Long Vacation




She had made her rounds with Schnetterling, a prudent German, and in
process of time had come to England, where, at Avoncester, both had
been attacked by influenza; he died, and she only recovered with a
total loss of voice; but he had been prudent and frugal enough to
save a sufficient sum to set her up at Rockquay with the tobacco-
shop. She had chosen that place on account of American trading-
vessels putting in there, as well as those of various foreign
nations, with whom her knowledge of languages was available, and no
doubt there were some opportunities of dealing in smuggled goods.
Just, however, as the smuggling was beginning to be suspected, the
circus of O'Leary came in her way, and the old instincts were
renewed. Then came the detection and prosecution, and the need of
raising the fine. She had recourse to O'Leary, who had before been
Schnetterling's underling, and now was a partner in Jellicoe's
circus, who knew her capabilities as a manager and actress, and
perceived the probabilities of poor little Lida's powers. The
discovery that the deserted baby that she had left at Chicago was a
young handsome squire, well connected, and, in her eyes, of unlimited
means, had of course incited both to make the utmost profit of him.
That he should not wish to hush the suspicion up, but should go
straight to his uncles, was to them a quite unexpected contingency.

All this was not exactly told to Lancelot, but he extracted it, or
gathered it before he was able to arrive at what was really
important, the name of Zoraya's first husband, where she was married,
and by whom, and where she had parted from him. She was so unwilling
to give particulars that he began almost to hope to make her confess
that the whole was a myth, but at last she owned that the man's name
was Giovanni Benista, and that the marriage had taken place at
Messina; she knew not in what church, nor in what year, only it was
before the end of the old regime, for she recollected the uniforms of
the Bomba soldiers, though she could not remember the name of the
priest. Benista was old, very old—-the tyrant and assassin that he
was, no doubt he was dead. She often thought he would have killed
her—-and the history of his ill-treatment had to be gone through
before it appeared that she had fled from him at Trieste with her
brother, in an English trading-vessel, where their dexterity and
brilliancy gained them concealment and a passage. This was certainly
in the summer of 1865. Of Benista she knew nothing since, but she
believed him to have come from Piedmont.

Lance found Gerald walking up and down anxiously watching for him,
and receiving him with a "Well!" that had in it volumes of suspense.

"Well, Gerald, I do not think there can be any blame attached to your
father, whatever comes of it. He was deceived as much as any one
else, and his attachment to you seems to have been his great
offence."

"Thank Heaven! Then he was deceived?"

"I am afraid there was some previous ceremony. But stay, Gerald!
There is no certainty that it was valid in the first place, and in
the next, nothing is known of Benista since 1865, when he was an old
man, so that there is a full chance that he was dead before-—"

"Before April 1868. I say, Uncle Lance, they want to make no end of
a bear-fight for my coming of age. I must be out of the way first."

"Don't cry out too soon. Even if the worst came to the worst, as the
property was left to you by will individually, I doubt whether this
discovery, if real, would make any difference in law. I do not
know."

"But would I take it on those terms? It would be simply defrauding
Clement, and all of you—-"

"Perhaps, long before, we may be satisfied," said Lance. "For the
present, I think nothing can be done but endeavour to ascertain the
facts."

"One comfort is," said Gerald, "I have gained a sister. I have
walked with her to the corner of her place-—the marble works, you
know-—and she really is a jolly little thing, quite innocent of all
her mother's tricks, thinking Mrs. Henderson the first of human
beings, except perhaps Flight, the aesthetic parson. I should not
have selected him, you know, but between them they have kept her
quite a white sheet-—a Miranda any Ferdinand might be glad to find,
and dreading nothing so much as falling into the hands of that awful
brute. Caliban himself couldn't have been worse! I have promised
her to do what I can to save her-—buy her off—-anything."

"Poor child," said Lance. "But, Gerald, nothing of this must be said
these next few days. We can't put ourselves out of condition for
this same raree-show."

"I'm sure it's a mere abomination to me," said Gerald disconsolately.
"I can't think why we should be dragged into all this nuisance for
what is not even our own concern."

"I'm sure I thought you the rope that dragged me! At any rate much
higher up on it."

"Well, I never thought you would respond—-you, who have enough on
your hands at Bexley."

"One stroke even on the outskirts is a stroke for all the cause."

"The cause! I don't believe in the cause, whatever it is. What a
concatenation now, that you and I should make fools of ourselves in
order to stave off the establishment of national education, as if we
could, or as if it was worth doing."

"Then why did you undertake it?"

"Oh, ah! Why, one wants something to do down here, and the
Merrifield lot are gone upon it; and I did want to go through the
thing again, but now it seems all rot."

"Nevertheless, having pledged ourselves to the performance, we cannot
cry off, and the present duty is to pack dull care away, put all this
out of our heads, and regard it as a mere mare's nest as long as
possible, and above all not upset Cherry. Remember, let this turn
out as it will, you are yourself still, and her own boy, beloved for
your father's sake, the joy of our dear brother, and her great
comforter. A wretched mistake can never change that."

Lance's voice was quivering, and Gerald's face worked. Lance gave
his hand a squeeze, and found voice to say—-

"'Hold thee still in the Lord, and abide patiently upon Him.' And
meantime be a man over it. It can be done. I have often had to
forget."




CHAPTER XIX. SHOP-DRESSING



But I can't conceive, in this very hot weather,
How I'm ever to bring all these people together.
T. HOOD.


It was not a day when any one could afford to be upset. It was
chiefly spent in welcoming arrivals or in rushing about: on the part
of Lance and Gerald in freshly rehearsing each performer, in
superintending their stage arrangements, reviewing the dresses, and
preparing for one grand final rehearsal; and in the multifarious
occupations and anxieties, and above all in the music, Gerald did
really forget, or only now and then recollect, that a nightmare was
hanging on him, and that his little Mona need not shrink from him in
maidenly shyness, but that he might well return her pretty appealing
look of confidence.

The only quiet place in the town apparently was Clement Underwood's
room, for even Cherry had been whirled off, at first to arrange her
own pictures and drawings; and then her wonderful touch made such a
difference in the whole appearance of the stall, and her dainty
devices were so graceful and effective, that Gillian and Mysie
implored her to come and tell them what to do with theirs, where they
were struggling with cushions, shawls, and bags, with the somewhat
futile assistance of Mr. Armine Brownlow and Captain Armytage,
whenever the latter could be spared from the theatrical arrangements,
where, as he said, it was a case of parmi les borgnes—-for his small
experience with the Wills-of-the-Wisp made him valuable.

The stalls were each in what was supposed to represent by turns a
Highland bothie or a cave. The art stall was a cave, that the back
(really a tool-house) might serve the photographers, and the front
was decorated with handsome bits of rock and spar, even ammonites.
Poor Fergus could not recover his horror and contempt when his
collection of specimens, named and arranged, was very nearly seized
upon to fill up interstices, and he was infinitely indebted to Mrs.
Grinstead for finding a place where their scientific merits could be
appreciated without letting his dirty stones, as Valetta called them,
disturb the general effect.

"And my fern-gardens! Oh, Mrs. Grinstead," cried Mysie, "please
don't send them away to the flower place which Miss Simmonds and the
gardeners are making like a nursery garden! They'll snub my poor
dear pterises."

"Certainly we'll make the most of your pterises. Look here. There's
an elegant doll, let her lead the family party to survey them.
That's right. Oh no, not that giantess! There's a dainty little
Dutch lady."

"Charming. Oh! and here's her boy in a sailor's dress."

"He is big enough to be her husband, my dear. You had better observe
proportions, and put that family nearer the eye."

"Those dolls!" cried Valetta, "they were our despair."

"Make them tell a story, don't you see. Where's that fat red
cushion?"

"Oh, that cushion! I put it out of sight because it is such a
monster."

"Yes; it is just like brick-dust enlivened by half-boiled
cauliflowers! Never mind, it will be all the better background.
Now, I saw a majestic lady reposing somewhere. There, let her sit
against it. Oh, she mustn't flop over. Here, that match-box, is it?
I pity the person deluded enough to use it! Prop her up with it.
Now then, let us have a presentation of ladies—-she's a governor's
wife in the colonies, you see. Never mind costumes, they may be
queer. All that will stand or kneel-—that's right. Those that can
only sit must hide behind, like poor Marie Antoinette's ladies on the
giggling occasion."

So she went on, full of fun, which made the work doubly delightful to
the girls, who darted about while she put the finishing touches,
transforming the draperies from the aspect of a rag-and-bone shop, as
Jasper had called it, to a wonderful quaint and pretty fairy bower,
backed by the Indian scenes sent by Mr. and Mrs. Bernard Underwood,
and that other lovely one of Primrose's pasture. There the merry
musical laugh of her youth was to be heard, as General Mohun came out
with Lancelot to make a raid, order the whole party to come and eat
luncheon at Beechcroft Cottage, and not let Mrs. Grinstead come out
again.

"Oh, but I must finish up Bernard's clay costume figures. Look at
the expression of that delightful dollie! I'm sure he is watching
the khitmutgars.


'Above on tallest trees remote
Green Ayahs perched alone;
And all night long the Mussah moaned
In melancholy tone.'


Oh, don't you know Lear's poem? Can't we illustrate it?"

"Cherry, Cherry, you'll be half dead to-morrow."

"Well, if I am, this is the real fun. I shan't see the destruction."

Lance had her arm in his grip to take her over the bridge over the
wall, when up rushed Kitty Varley.

"Oh, if Mrs. Grinstead would come and look at our stall and set it
right! Miss Vanderkist gave us hopes."

"Perhaps-—"

"Now, Cherry, don't you know that you are not to be knocked up!
There are the Travises going to bring unlimited Vanderkists."

"Oh yes, I know; but there's renovation in breaths from Vale Leston,
and I really am of some use here." Her voice really had a gay ring
in it. "It is such fun too! Where's Gerald?"

"Having a smoke with the buccaneer captain. Oh, Miss Mohun, here's
my sister, so enamoured of the bazaar I could hardly get her in."

"And oh! she is so clever and delightful. She has made our stall the
most enchanting place," cried Primrose, dancing round. "Mamma, you
must come and have it all explained to you."

"The very sight is supposed to be worth a shilling extra," said
General Mohun, while Lady Merrifield and Miss Mohun, taking
possession of her, hoped she was not tired; and Gillian, who had been
wont to consider her as her private property, began to reprove her
sisters for having engrossed her while she herself was occupied in
helping the Hendersons with their art stall.

"The truth is," said Lance, "that this is my sister's first bazaar,
and so dear is the work to the female mind, that she can't help being
sucked into the vortex."

"Is it really?" demanded Mysie, in a voice that made Mrs. Grinstead
laugh and say—-

"Such is my woeful lack of experience."

"We have fallen on a bazaar wherever we went," said Lady Merrifield.

"But this is our first grown-up one, mamma," said Valetta. "There
was only a sale of work before."

They all laughed, and Lance said—-

"To Stoneborough they seem like revenues—-at least sales of work, for
I can't say I understand the distinction."

"Recurring brigandages," said General Mohun.

"Ah! Uncle Reggie has never forgotten his getting a Noah's ark in a
raffle," said Mysie.

So went the merry talk, while one and another came in at Miss Mohun's
verandah windows to be sustained with food and rest, and then darted
forth again to renew their labours until the evening, Miss Mohun
flying about everywhere on all sorts of needs, and her brother the
General waiting by the dining-room to do the duties of hospitality to
the strays of the families who dropped in, chattering and laughing,
and exhausted.

Lady Merrifield was authorized to detain Mrs. Grinstead to the last
moment possible to either, and they fell into a talk on the morality
of bazaars, which, as Lady Merrifield said, had been a worry to her
everywhere, while Geraldine had been out of their reach; since the
Underwoods had done everything without begging, and Clement
disapproved of them without the most urgent need; but, as Lance had
said, his wife had grown up to them, and had gone through all the
stages from delighting, acquiescing, and being bored, and they had so
advanced since their early days, from being simply sales to the grand
period of ornaments, costumes, and anything to attract.

"Clement consents," said Geraldine; "as, first, it is not a church,
and then, though it does seem absurd to think that singing through
the murdered Tempest should be aiding the cause of the Church, yet
anything to keep our children to learning faith and truth is worthy
work."

"Alas, it is working against the stream! How things are changed when
school was our romance and our domain."

"Yes, you should hear Lance tell the story of his sister-in-law
Ethel, how she began at Cocksmoor, with seven children and fifteen
shillings, and thought her fortune made when she got ten pounds a
year for the school-mistress; and now it is all Mrs. Rivers can do to
keep out the School-board, because they had not a separate room for
the hat-pegs!"

"We never had those struggles. We had enough to do to live at all in
our dear old home days, except that my brother always taught Sunday
classes. But anyway, this is very amusing. Those young people's
characters come out so much. Ah, Gerald, what is it?"

For Gerald was coming up to the verandah with a very pretty, dark-
eyed, modest-looking girl in a sailor hat, who shrank back as he
said—-

"I am come to ask for some luncheon for my—-my Mona. She has had
nothing to eat all day, and we still have the grand recognition scene
to come."

At which the girl blushed so furiously that the notion crossed
Geraldine that he must have been flirting with the poor little
tobacconist's daughter; but Lady Merrifield was exclaiming that he
too had had nothing to eat, and General Mohun came forth to draw them
into the dining-room, where he helped Ludmilla to cold lamb, salad,
etc., and she sat down at Gerald's signal, very timidly, so that she
gave the idea of only partaking because she was afraid to refuse.

Gerald ate hurriedly and nervously, and drank claret cup. He said
they were getting on famously, his uncle's chief strength being
expended in drawing out the voice of the buccaneer captain, and
mitigating the boatswain. Where were the little boys? Happily
disposed of. Little Felix had gone through his part, and then Fergus
had carried him and Adrian off together to Clipstone to see his
animals, antediluvian and otherwise.

Then in rushed Gillian, followed by Dolores.

"Oh, mother!" cried Gillian, "there's a fresh instalment of pots and
pans come in, such horrid things some of them! There's a statue in
terra-cotta, half as large as life, of the Dirty Boy. Geraldine, do
pray come and see what can be done with him. Kalliope is in utter
despair, for they come from Craydon's, and to offend them would be
fatal."

"Kalliope and the Dirty Boy," said Mrs. Grinstead, laughing.
"A dreadful conjunction; I must go and see if it is possible to
establish the line between the sublime and the ridiculous."

"Shall I ask your nephew's leave to let you go," said Lady
Merrifield, "after all the orders I have received?"

"Oh, no-—" she began, but Gerald had jumped up.

"I'll steer you over the drawbridge, Cherie, if go you must. Yes,"-—
to the young ladies-—"I appreciate your needs. Nobody has the same
faculty in her fingers as this aunt of mine. Come along, Mona, it is
Mrs. Henderson's stall, you know."

Ludmilla came, chiefly because she was afraid to be left, and Lady
Merrifield could not but come too, meeting on the way Anna, come to
implore help in arranging the Dirty Boy, before Captain Henderson
knocked his head off, as he was much disposed to do.

Gillian had bounded on before with a handful of sandwiches, but
Dolores tarried behind, having let the General help her to the leg of
a chicken, which she seemed in no haste to dissect. Her uncle went
off on some other call before she had finished, eating and drinking
with the bitter sauce of reflection on the fleeting nature of young
men's attentions and even confidences, and how easily everything was
overthrown at sight of a pretty face, especially in the half-and-half
class. She had only just come out into the verandah, wearily to
return to the preparations, which had lost whatever taste they had
for her, when she saw Gerald Underwood springing over the partition
wall. Her impulse was to escape him, but it was too late; he came
eagerly up to her, saying—-

"She is safe with Mrs. Henderson. I am to go back for her when our
duet comes on."

Dolores did not want to lower herself by showing jealousy or offence,
but she could not help turning decidedly away, saying—-

"I am wanted."

"Are you? I wanted to tell you why I am so interested in her.
Dolores, can you hear me now?—-she is my sister."

"Your sister!" in utter amaze.

"Every one says they see it in the colour of our eyes."

"Every one"-—she seemed able to do nothing but repeat his words.

"Well, my uncle Lancelot, and—-and my mother. No one else knows yet.
They want to spare my aunt till this concern is over."

"But how can it be?"

"It is a horrid business altogether!" he said, taking her down to the
unfrequented parts of the lower end of the garden, where they could
walk up and down hidden by the bushes and shrubs. "You knew that my
father was an artist and musician, who fled from over patronage."

"I think I have heard so."

"He married a singing-woman, and she grew tired of him, and of me,
deserted and divorced him in Chicago, when I was ten months old. He
was the dearest, most devoted of fathers, till he and I were devoured
by the Indians. If they had completed their operations on my scalp,
it would have been all the better for me. Instead of which Travis
picked me up, brought me home, and they made me as much of an heir of
all the traditions as nature would permit, all ignoring that not only
was my father Bohemian ingrain, but that my mother was—-in short-—one
of the gipsies of civilization. They never expected to hear of her
again, but behold, the rapturous discovery has taken place. She
recognised Lance, the only one of the family she had ever seen
before, and then the voice of blood-—more truly the voice of £ s. d.-
—exerted itself."

"How was it she did not find you out before?"

"My father seems to have concealed his full name; I remember his
being called Tom Wood. She married in her own line after casting him
off, and this pretty little thing is her child—-the only tolerable
part of it."

"But she cannot have any claim on you," said Dolores, with a more
shocked look and tone than the words conveyed.

"Not she-—in reason; but the worst of it is, Dolores, that the
wretched woman avers that she deceived my father, and had an old
rascally tyrant of an Italian husband, who might have been alive when
she married."

"Gerald!"

Dolores stood still and looked at him with her eyes opened in horror.

"Yes, you may well say Gerald. 'Tis the only name I have a right to
if this is true."

"But you are still yourself," and she held out her hand.

He did not take it, however, only saying—-

"You know what this means?"

"Of course I do, but that does not alter you—-yourself in yourself."

"If you say that, Dolores, it will only alter me to make me-—more-—
more myself."

She held out her hand again, and this time he did take it and press
it, but he started, dropped it, and said—-

"It is not fair."

"Oh yes, it is. I know what it means," she repeated, "and it makes
no difference," and this time it was she who took his hand.

"It means that unless this marriage is disproved, or the man's death
proved, I am an outcast, dependent on myself, instead of the curled
darling the Grinsteads—-blessings on them!-—have brought me up."

"I don't know whether I don't like you better so," exclaimed she,
looking into his clear eyes and fine open face, full of resolution,
not of shame.

"While you say so-—" He broke off. "Yes, thus I can bear it better.
The estate is almost an oppression to me. The Bohemian nature is in
me, I suppose. I had rather carve out life for myself than have the
landlord business loaded on my shoulders. Clement and Lance will
make the model parson and squire far better than I. 'The Inspector's
Tour' was a success—-between that and the Underwood music there's no
fear but I shall get an independent career."

"Oh! that is noble! You will be much more than your old self-—as you
said."

"The breaking of Cherie's heart is all that I care about," said he.
"To her I was comfort, almost compensation for those brothers. I
don't know how-—" He paused. "We'll let her alone till all this is
over; so, Dolores, not one word to any one."

"No, no, no!" she exclaimed. "I will-—I will be true to you through
everything, Gerald; I will wait till you have seen your way, and be
proud of you through all."

"Then I can bear it-—I have my incentive," he said. "First, you see,
I must try to rescue my sister. I do not think it will be hard, for
the maternal heart seems to be denied to that woman. Then proofs
must be sought, and according as they are found or not—-"

Loud calls of "Gerald" and "Mr. Underwood" began to resound. He
finished—-

"Must be _the_ future."

"_Our_ future," repeated Dolores.




CHAPTER XX. FRENCH LEAVE



She came, she is gone, we have met,
And meet perhaps never again.-—COWPER.


The evening of that day was a scene of welcomes, dinners, and
confusion. The Rotherwoods had arrived that evening at the Cliff
Hotel just in time for dinner, of which they considerately partook
where they were, to save Jane Mohun trouble; but all four of the
party came the instant it was over to hear and see all that was going
on, and were fervently received by Gillian and Mysie, who were
sleeping at their aunt's to be ready for the morrow, and in spite of
all fatigue, had legs wherewith to walk Lord Ivinghoe and Lady
Phyllis round the stalls, now closed up by canvas and guarded by
police. Phyllis was only mournful not to have assisted in the
preparations, and heard all the fun that Mrs. Grinstead had made.
But over the wall of Carrara a sight was seen for which no one was
prepared—-no other than Maura White's pretty classical face!

"Yes," she said, "how could I be away from such an occasion? I made
Uncle White bring me to London-—he had business there, you know-—and
then I descended on Kalliope, and wasn't she surprised! But I have a
lovely Italian dress!"

Kalliope Henderson looked more alarmed than gratified on the whole.
She knew that there had been no idea of Maura's coming till after it
had been known that the Rotherwoods were to open the bazaar, and
"made Uncle White" was so unlike their former relations that all were
startled, Gillian asking in a tone of reproof how Aunt Adeline spared
Maura.

"Oh, we shall be back at Gastein in less than a week. I could not
miss such an occasion."

"I only had her telegram half-an-hour ago," said Kalliope, in an
apologetic tone; and Lord Ivinghoe was to be dimly seen handing Maura
over the fence. Moonlight gardens and moonlight sea! What was to be
done? And Ivinghoe, who had begun life by being as exclusive as the
Marchioness herself! "People take the bit between their teeth
nowadays," as Jane observed to Lady Rotherwood when the news reached
her, and neither said, though each felt, that Adeline would not have
promoted this expedition, even for the child whom she and Mr. White
had conspired to spoil. Each was secretly afraid of the attraction
for Ivinghoe.