P. G. Wodehouse - "A Man of Means"

Cyrus Thomas - "The Problem of Ohio Mounds"

Rabindranath Tagore - "The Hungry Stones And Other Stories"

George Bernard Shaw - "John Bull's Other Island"

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




Two occurrences had, however, precipitated matters. One was the stir
that Clement had made about the school-boys' festival, ending in the
fine being imposed; the other, the discovery that the graceful, well-
endowed young esquire was the child who had been left to probable
beggary with a dying father twenty years previously.

Jellicoe, the principal owner of the circus, advanced the money for
the fine, on condition of the girl and her mother becoming attached
to the circus; and the object of O'Leary was to make as much profit
as possible out of the mystery that hung over the young heir of Vale
Leston. His refusal to attend to the claim on him, together with
spite at his uncle, as having brought about the prosecution, and to
Mr. Flight for hesitating to remunerate the girl for the performance
that was to have been free; perhaps too certain debts and
difficulties, all conspired to occasion the midnight flitting in such
a manner as to prevent the circus from being pursued.

Thenceforth poor Lida's life had been hopeless misery, with all her
womanly and religious instincts outraged, and the probability of
worse in future. Jellicoe, his wife, and O'Leary had no pity, and
her mother very little, and no principle; and she had no hope, except
that release might come by some crippling accident. Workhouse or
hospital would be deliverance, since thence she could write to Mrs.
Henderson.

She shook and trembled still lest she should be pursued, though Miss
Hackett assured her that this was the last place to be suspected, and
it was not easy to make her eat. Presently Gerald stood ready to
take her to the cab.

Dolores came to the gate with them. There was only space for a
fervent embrace and "God bless you!" and then she stood watching as
they went away into the night.




CHAPTER XXVIII. ROCCA MARINA



There was of course in Adeline
A calm patrician polish in the address,
Which ne'er can pass the equinoctial line
Of anything which nature could express.—-BYRON.


It was a late autumn or winter day, according to the calendar, when
The Morning Star steamed up to the quay of Rocca Marina, but it was
hard to believe it, for all the slope of one of the Maritime Alps lay
stretched out basking in the noonday sunshine, green and lovely,
wherever not broken by the houses below, or the rocks quarried out on
the mountain side. Some snow lay on the further heights, enough to
mark their forms, and contrast with the soft sweetness of the lap of
the hills and the glorious Mediterranean blue.

Anna and Franceska stood watching and exclaiming in a trance of
delight, as one beauty after another revealed itself-—the castellated
remnant of the old tower, the gabled house with stone balconies and
terraces, with parapets and vases below, the little white spire of
the church tower of the English colony, looking out of the chestnut
and olive groves above, and the three noble stone pines that
sheltered the approach.

Mr. White, in his launch, came out with exulting and hearty welcome
to bring them ashore, through the crowd of feluccas, fishing-vessels,
and one or two steamers that filled the tiny bay, and on landing, the
party found an English wagonette drawn by four stout mules waiting to
receive them—-mules, as being better for the heights than horses.

Anna and Franceska insisted on walking with Mr. White and Sir Robert,
and they fairly frisked in the delicious air of sea and mountain
after being so long cramped on board ship, stopping continually with
screams of delight over violets or anemones, or the views that
unfolded themselves as they went higher and higher. The path Mr.
White chose was a good deal steeper than the winding carriage road
cut out of the mountain side, and they arrived before the mules with
Mrs. Grinstead and her brother, at the Italian garden, with a
succession of broad terraces protected and adorned with open
balustrades, with vases of late blooming flowers at intervals, and
broad stone steps, guarded by carved figures, leading from one to
another.

"It is like Beauty's palace," sighed out in delight Francie to her
sister.

"There's Beauty," laughed Anna, as at the open window upon the
highest verandah-shaded balcony appeared the darkly handsome Maura
and Mrs. White, her small features as pretty as ever, but her figure
a good deal more embonpoint than in Rockquay times.

Hers was a very warm welcome to the two sisters and their friend, and
to the others who reached the front door a few minutes later. Such
an arrival was very pleasant to her, for it must be confessed that,
save for the English visitors, who were always gladly received, the
life at Rocca Marina was a dull one, in spite of its being near
enough to San Remo by the railway for expeditions for a day.

Within, the dwelling was a combination of the old Italian palace with
English comforts. Mr. White, in his joy at possessing his graceful
lady wife, had spared no expense in making it a meet bower for her,
and Geraldine was as much amused as fascinated by the exquisiteness
of all around her; as she sat, in a most luxurious chair, looking out
through the open window at the blue sea, yet with a lively wood fire
burning under a beauteous mantelpiece; statues, pictures, all that
was recherche around, while they drank their English tea out of
almost transparently delicate cups, filled by Maura out of a
beautifully chased service of plate on a marble mosaic table.

"And now you must let me show you your rooms," said Mrs. White. "I
thought you would like to have them en suite, for I am such a poor
creature that I cannot breakfast down-stairs, and Mr. White is
obliged to be out early."

So she led the way through a marble hall, pillared in different
colours, rich and rare, with portraits of ancient Contes and
Contessas on the walls, up a magnificent stone stair with a carved
balustrade, to a suite indeed, where, at the entrance, Sibby was
found very happy at her welcome from Mrs. Mount, who was equally glad
to receive a countrywoman.

There was a sitting-room with a balcony looking out on the bay, a
study and bedroom beyond for Clement on one side, and on the other
charmingly fitted rooms for Geraldine, for her nieces, and her maid;
and Mrs. White left them, telling them the dinner hour, and begging
them to call freely and without scruple for all and everything they
could wish for. Nothing would be any trouble.

"We have even an English doctor below there," she said, pointing to
the roofs of the village. "There are so many accidents that Mr.
White thought it better to be provided, so we have a little hospital
with a trained nurse."

It was all very good, very kind, yet the very family likeness to
Lilias Merrifield and Jane Mohun made Geraldine think how much more
simple in manner one of them would have been without that nouveau
riche tone of exultation.

"Here is a whole packet of letters," ended Mrs. White, "that came for
you these last two or three days."

She pointed to a writing-table and went away, while the first letters
so amazed Geraldine that she could think of nothing else, and
hastened to summon Clement.

It was from Gerald, posted by the pilot from on board the steamer,
very short, and only saying—-


"DEAREST CHERIE,

"I know you will forgive me, or rather see that I do not need pardon
for rescuing my sister. Anywhere in England she would be in danger
of being reclaimed to worse than death. Dolores will tell you all
the situation, and I will send a letter as soon as we arrive at New
York. No time for more, except that I am as much as ever

"Your own, my Cherie's own,
"GERALD."

There followed directions how to send letters to him through the
office of the 'Censor'.

Then she opened, written on the same day, a letter from Dolores
Mohun, sent in obedience to his telegram, when he found that time for
details failed him. It began—-


"DEAR MRS. GRINSTEAD,

"I know you will be shocked and grieved at the step that your nephew
has taken, but when you understand the circumstances, I think you
will see that it was unavoidable for one of so generous and self-
sacrificing a nature. I may add, that my aunt Lily is much touched,
and thoroughly approves, and my uncle Jasper says imprudence is
better than selfishness."


After this little preamble ensued a full and sensible account of
Ludmilla's situation and sufferings at the circus, and the history of
her escape, demonstrating (to the writer's own satisfaction) that
there was no other means of securing the poor child.

Of course the blow to Geraldine was a terrible one.

"We have lost him," she said.

"That does not follow," said Clement. "It is quite plain that he
does not mean to cut himself off from us, and America is not out of
reach."

"It is just the restless impatience that you warned him against.
As if he could not have taken her to the Hendersons."

"She would not have been safe there, unless acts of cruelty could
have been proved."

"Or to us, out here."

"My dear Cherry, imagine his sudden arrival with such an appendage!
I really think the boy has acted for the best."

"Giving up Oxford too!"

"That can be resumed."

"And most likely that wretched little girl will run off in a month's
time. It is in the blood."

"Come, come, Cherry. I can't have you in this uncharitable mood."

"Then I mustn't say what I think of that Dolores abetting him."

"No, I like her letter."

It fell hard upon Geraldine to keep all to herself, while entertained
in full state by her hosts. Perhaps Adeline would have liked
something on a smaller scale, for she knew what was ostentatious; but
though Mr. White had once lived in a corner of the castle, almost
like an artisan; since he had married, it had become his pride to
treat his guests on the grandest London scale, and the presence of
Sir Robert Audley for one night evoked all his splendours. He made
excuses for having no one to meet the party but the chaplain and his
wife and the young doctor, who he patronizingly assured them was
"quite the gentleman," and Theodore White-— "Just to fill up a corner
and amuse the young ladies." Theodore had been lately sent out, now
a clerk, soon to be a partner; but he was very shy, and did not amuse
the young ladies at all! Indeed, he was soon so smitten with
admiration for Franceska, that he could do nothing but sit rapt,
looking at her under his eyelids.

The chaplain had received an offer of preferment in England, and was
anxious to go home as soon as possible. Clement was now so well,
that after assisting the next day in the week's duties among the
people, and at the pretty little church that Mr. White had built, he
ventured to accept the proposal of becoming a substitute until the
decision was made or another chaplain found. He was very happy to be
employed once more in his vocation.

The climate suited him exactly, and the loan of the chaplain's house
would relieve him and Geraldine from the rather oppressive
hospitality of the castle. The search for Benista's antecedents
would of course go on with the assistance of Mr. White and his
Italian foreman, but both assured him that the inquiry might be
protracted, as winter was likely to cut off the communications with
many parts of the interior, and many of the men would be at their
distant homes till the spring advanced.

Meantime, Geraldine and her nieces had a home life, reading, studying
Italian, drawing with endless pleasure, and the young ones walking
about the chestnut-covered slopes. She sat in the gardens or drove
with Mrs. White in her donkey-chaise, and would have been full of
enjoyment but for the abiding anxiety about Gerald. It was rather a
relief not to be living in the same house with the Whites, whose
hospitality and magnificence were rather oppressive. Mr. White
wanted to have everything admired, and its cost appreciated; and
Adeline, though clever enough, had provoking similarities and
dissimilarities to her sisters. The same might be said of Maura, to
whom Francie at first took a great fancy, but Anna, who had seen more
of the world, had a sense of distrust.

"There's something fawning about her ways," said she, "and I don't
know whether she is quite sincere."

"Perhaps it is only being half Greek," said Geraldine.

However, the two families met every day, and Mrs. White called their
intercourse "such a boon, such a charming friendship," all unaware
that there was no real confidence or affection.

They had not long been seated when the little Italian messenger boy
brought them a budget of letters. Of course the first that Geraldine
opened was in her nephew's writing. It had been written at intervals
throughout the voyage, and finished on landing at New York.

Passing over the expressions of unabated affection, and explanation
of the need of removing Ludmilla out of reach of her natural
guardians, with the date on the second day of the voyage, the diary
continued:


"Whom, as the fates would have it, should I have encountered but the
Cacique! Yes, old Fernan and Marilda have the stateliest of state-
rooms in this same liner, and he was as much taken aback as I was
when we ran against one another over a destitute and disconsolate
Irish family in the steerage. Marilda is as yet invisible, as is my
poor little Lida. It is unlucky, for the good man is profuse in his
offers of patronage, and I don't mean to be patronized."


Then, after some clever descriptions of the fellow second-class
passengers in his own lively vein, perhaps a little forced, so as not
to betray more than he intended, that he felt them uncongenial, there
came—-


"Lida is up again; she is a sweet little patient person, and I cannot
withstand Fernan's wish to present her to his wife, who remains
prostrate at present, and will till we get out of the present stiff
breeze and its influences.

"12th.-—The presentation is over, and it has ended in Lida devoting
herself to the succour of Marilda, and likewise of her maid, who is a
good deal worse than herself.

* * * * *

"16th.-—These amiable folks want to take Lida off with them, not to
say myself, to their 'Underwood' in the Rockies; but I don't intend
her to be semi-lady's-maid, semi-companion, as she is becoming, but
to let her stand on her own legs, or mine, and put her to a good
school at New York. I have finished an article on 'Transatlantic
Travellers' for the 'Censor', also some reviews, and another paper
that may pave my way to work in New York or elsewhere. My craving is
for the work of hard hands, but I look at mine, and fear I run more
to the brain than the hands. My father must have been of finer
physique than the Sioux bullet left to me; but I have no fears."

"No, indeed," sighed Geraldine; "he has not the fine athletic
strength of his dear father, but still—-still I think there is that
in him which Edgar had not."

"Force of character," said Clement, "even if he is wrong-headed.
Here is Fernan's letter—-


"'Imagine my amazement at finding Gerald on board with us. He tells
me that you are aware of his escapade, so I need not explain it. He
is not very gracious to either of us, and absolutely refuses all
offers of assistance either for himself or his sister. However, I
hope to be able to keep a certain watch over him without offending
him, and to obviate some of the difficulties in his way, perhaps
unknown to him. Marilda has, as usual, suffered greatly on the
voyage, but the little Lida, as he calls her, has been most attentive
and useful both to her and her maid, who was quite helpless, and much
the worst of the two. My wife was much prejudiced against Lida at
first, but has become very fond of her, and is sure that she is a
thoroughly good girl-—worth the sacrifice Gerald has made for her.
In his independent mood, he will not hear of our offering a home to
the poor child; but if, as I hope, your researches turn out in his
favour, he may consent to let us find suitable education for her. At
any rate, I promise Geraldine not to leave these two young things to
their fate, though I may have to act secretly. I can never forget
how I took him from his father's side, and the baptism almost in
blood. We go to New Orleans first, and after the cold weather home,
but letters to the Bank will find us.'"


"Good, dear old Fernan and Marilda!" cried Geraldine, "I can see
their kindness, and how, with all their goodness, it must jar on
Gerald's nerves."

"I hope he won't be an ass," returned Clement. "Such patient
goodness ought not to be snubbed by-—" He caught his sister's eye,
and made his last words "youthful theorists."

Mrs. Henderson too forwarded a letter from Lida, being sure that it
would be a great pleasure to Mrs. Grinstead. It went into many more
particulars about the miseries of the circus training than had been
known before, and the fears and hints which made it plain that it had
been quite right to avail herself of the means of escape; after which
was added—-


"I never thought to be so happy as I am here. My brother is the
noblest, most generous, most kind of creatures, and that he should do
all this for me, after all the harm he has suffered from my poor
mother! It quite overpowers me when I think of it. I see a tear has
dropped, but it is such a happy one. Please tell Mr. Flight what
peace and joy this is to me, after all my prayers and trying to mind
what he said. There are such a gentleman and lady here, cousins to
my brother, Sir Ferdinand and Lady Travis Underwood. She has been
more or less ill all through the voyage, and her maid worse, and she
has let me do what I could for her, and has been kindness itself.
They were at the bazaar. Did you see Sir Ferdinand? He is the very
grandest and handsomest man I ever did see, and so good to all the
poor emigrants in the steerage. He is very kind to me; but I see
that my brother will not have me presume. They have bidden me write
to them in any need. I never thought there could be so many good
people out of Rockquay. Please give my duty to Mr. Flight and Lady
Flight, good Miss Mohun, and dear Miss Dolores. I wear her ulster,
and bless the thought of her."




CHAPTER XXIX. ROWENA AND HER RIVAL



And yet if each the other's name
In some unguarded moment heard,
The heart that once you thought so tame
Would flutter like a wounded bird.-—ANON.


Letters continued to come with fair regularity; and it was understood
that Gerald, with Lida, had taken up his quarters in an "inexpensive"
boarding-house at New York, where he had sent Lida to a highly-
recommended day-school, and he was looking out for employment. His
articles had been accepted, he said; but the accounts of his
adventures and of his fellow-inmates gave the sense that there was
more humour in the retrospect than in the society, and that they were
better to write about than to live with. He never confessed it, but
to his aunt, who understood him, it was plain that he found it a
different thing to talk philanthropic socialism, or even to work
among the poor, and to live in the society of the unrefined equals.

Then he wrote that Lida had come one day and told him that one of the
girls, with whom she had made friends, had a bad attack of cough and
bronchitis, and could not fulfil an engagement that she had made to
come and sing for a person who was giving lectures upon national
music. "'I looked at some of her songs,' little Lida said in her
humble way, 'and I know them. Don't you think, brother, I might take
her part?' Well, not to put too fine a point upon it, it was not an
unwelcome notion, for my articles, though accepted, don't bring in
the speedy remuneration with which fiction beguiles the aspirant.
Only one of them, which I send you, has seen the light, and the
'Censor' is slow, though sure, so dollars for immediate expenses run
short. I called on the fellow, Mr. Gracchus B. Van Tromp, to see
whether he were fit company for my sister, and I found him much
superior to his name—-gentlemanlike and intelligent, not ill-read,
and pretty safe, like most Yankees, to know how to behave to a young
girl. When he found I could accompany my sister on piano or violin
he was transported. Moreover, he could endure to be enlightened by a
Britisher on such little facts as the true history of Auld Robin Gray
and the Wacht am Rhein. The lecture was a marked success. We have
another tonight, 16th. It has resulted in a proposal to these two
interesting performers to accompany the great Gracchus on a tour
through the leading 'cities,' lecturing by turns with him and
assisting. He has hitherto picked up as he could 'local talent,' but
is glad of less uncertain help, and so far as appears, he is superior
to jealousy, though he sees that I'm better read, 'and of the cut
that takes the ladies.' It is no harm for Lida; she was not learning
much, and I can cultivate her better when I have her to myself, and
get her not to regard me so much like a lion, to be honoured with
distant respect and obedience. We shall get dollars enough to keep
us going till my talents break upon the world, and obtain stunning
experiences for the 'Censor'. My father's dear old violin is coming
to the front. Our first start will be at Boston; but continue to
write to Gerald F. Wood, care of Editor of 'Cole's Weekly'."

"How like his father!" was the natural exclamation; but the details
that followed in another week were fairly satisfactory, and the
spirit of independence was a sound one, which had stood harder proofs
than perhaps his home was allowed to know, though these were early
days.

February was beginning to open the buds and to fill the slopes with
delicate anemones, as well as to bring back Mr. White's workmen,
among whom Clement could make inquiries. One young man knew the name
of Benista as belonging to a family in a valley beyond his own, but
it was not an easily accessible one, and a fresh fall of snow had
choked the ravine, and would do so for weeks to come.

Yet all was lovely on the coast, and Mr. White having occasion to go
to San Remo, offered to take the three girls with him.

"Young ladies always have a turn for shops," said he.

"I want to see the coast," said Franceska, with a little dignity.

"But I do want some gloves-—and some blue embroidery silk, thank you,
Mr. White," said Anna, more courteously.

"And I want some handkerchiefs, if Mr. White will take me too!"
returned Uncle Clement in the same tone.

"I know so well what you mean, dear," observed Maura, sotto voce to
Francie. "It is so trying to be supposed mere common-place, when
one's thoughts are on the beautiful and romantic."

It was just one of the sayings that had begun to go against Francie's
taste, and she answered—-

"Mr. White is very good-natured."

"Ah, yes, but so—-so-—you know."

Francie was called, and left Mr. White's description to be
unutterable.

The two elder ladies spent the day together, and Mrs. Grinstead then
heard that Jane Mohun had written, that both Lord Ivinghoe and Lady
Phyllis Devereux were recovering from the influenza, and that Lord
Rotherwood had had a slight touch of the complaint.

"It is a very serious thing in our family," said Adeline, with all
the satisfaction of having a family, especially with a complaint, and
she began to enumerate the victims of the Devereux house and her own,
only breaking off to exclaim, "I really shall write at once to beg
them all to come here for the rest of the winter, March winds and
all. My cousin Rotherwood has never been here, and they might be
quite quiet among relations. So unlike a common health resort."

Mrs. White's hospitable anticipations were forestalled. The party
came home from San Remo in high spirits. They had met Lord
Rotherwood and his son in the street, they had been greeted most
warmly, and brought to luncheon at the villa, where they found not
only Lady Rotherwood and Phyllis, but Mysie Merrifield.

It was explained that their London doctor had strongly advised
immediate transplantation before there was time to catch fresh colds,
and a friend of the Marchioness, who permanently possessed a charming
house at San Remo, had offered it just as it was for the spring. The
journey had been made at once, with one deviation on Lord
Rotherwood's part, to beg for Mysie, as an essential requisite to his
"Fly's" perfect recovery. A visit had been due before, only deferred
by the general illness, and no difficulty was made in letting it be
paid in these new and delightful scenes. Phyllis had been there
before. She was weak and languid, and would much rather have stayed
at home, except for seeing Mysie's delight in the mountains and the
blue Mediterranean, which she dimly remembered from her infancy at
Malta. Only she made it a point of honour not to allow that the sea
was bluer than the bay of Rockquay.

Ivinghoe was looking ill and disgusted, but brightened up at the
sight of the visitors, and his mother, who thought Monte Carlo too
near, though she had kept as far from it as possible, accepted the
more willingly Mr. White's cordial invitation to come and spend a day
or two at Rocca Marina. Trifles were so much out of the good lady's
focus of vision that the possible dangers in that quarter never
occurred to her, though Maura was demurely bridling, and Francie, all
unawakened, but prettier than ever, was actually wearing a scarlet
anemone that Ivinghoe had given to her.