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Charles de Bernard - "Gerfaut, v3"

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: Opening a Chestnut Burr

E >> Edward Payson Roe >> Opening a Chestnut Burr




As Annie turned with a shocked and half-frightened expression toward
him his eyes met hers with a sudden gleam of drollery which was
irresistible, and he had the satisfaction of seeing her drop her head
to conceal a smile. But he noticed, a moment later, that her face
became grave with disapprobation.

Having sung a stanza he looked around with an injured air, as if
reproaching the others for not joining in with him.

"The tune is not exactly familiar to us," said the good man leading
the meeting, "but if the brother will continue singing we will soon
catch the air; or perhaps the brother or some one else (with a glance
at Annie) will start one better known."

Gregory deliberately turned over the leaves, and to the tune of Old
Hundred started a hymn commencing:

"Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb,
Take this new treasure to thy trust,
And give these sacred relics room
To slumber in the silent dust."

Annie had a keen sense of the ludicrous, and the transition from what
he had been singing to the funereal and most inappropriate words was
almost too much for her. To her impotent anger and self-disgust she
felt a hysterical desire to laugh, and only controlled herself by
keeping her head down and her lips firmly pressed together during the
remainder of the brief service.

Even others who did not know Gregory could not prevent a broad smile
at the incongruous hymn he had chosen, but they unitedly wailed it
through, for he persisted in singing it all in the most dirge-like
manner. They gave him credit for doing the best he could, and supposed
his unhappy choice resulted from haste and embarrassment. In the
spontaneity of social meetings people become accustomed to much that
is not harmonious.

Mr. Walton was puzzled. His guest was certainly appearing in an
unexpected role, and he feared that all was not right.

After the meeting the brethren gathered round Gregory and thanked him
for his assistance, and he shook hands with them and the elderly
ladies present with the manner of one who might have been a "pillar in
the temple." Many of them remembered his father and mother and
supposed their mantle had fallen on him.

An ancient "mother in Israel" thanked him that he had "started a tune
that they all could sing, instead of the new-fangled ones the young
people are always getting up nowadays. But," said she, "I wish you
could learn us that pretty one you first sang, for it took my fancy
amazingly. I think I must have heard it before somewhere."

Gregory gave Annie another of his suggestive glances, that sent her
out hastily into the darkness, and a moment later he joined her at the
carriage steps.




CHAPTER XII

FOILED IN ONE DIRECTION



Gregory lifted Miss Walton very tenderly into the carriage and took
his place by her side, while her father was detained by some little
matter of business.

"I am not an invalid," said Annie, rather curtly.

"Indeed you are not, Miss Walton; from your super-abundance you are
even giving life to me."

"I thought from your manner you feared I was about to faint," she
answered, dryly.

Mr. Walton joined them and they started homeward.

"Come, Miss Annie," said Gregory (addressing her thus for the first
time); "why so distant? Was I not called a brother in the meeting? If
I am a brother you are a sister. I told you I would secure this
relationship."

She did not answer him.

"I think it was too bad," he continued, "that you did not second my
efforts better. You would not help me sing either of the tunes I
started."

"Mr. Gregory," said Annie, emphatically, "I will never go to a prayer-
meeting with you again."

"What a rash resolve! But I confess that I preferred to have you stay
at home with me."

"You have spoiled the whole evening for me."

"And you spoiled mine. So we are quits," he replied, laughingly.

"No, we are not. How can you turn sacred things into a jest?"

"I was possessed to see a smile light up the awful gravity of your
face, and I feel amply repaid in that I succeeded. It was a delicious
bit of sunshine on a cloudy day."

"And I am provoked at myself beyond measure, that I could have laughed
like a silly child."

"But did you not like the first tune I sang? 'Old Hundred' was
selected in deference to the wishes of the meeting."

"No, I did not like it. It was not suitable to the place and words.
Though I never heard it before, its somewhat slow movement did not
prevent it from smacking of something very foreign to a prayer-
meeting."

"A most happy and inspired expression. Many a time I have smacked my
lips when it was being sung over the best of wine."

"Was it a drinking-song, then?" she asked, quickly.

"What will you do with me if I say it was?"

"Mr. Gregory, I would not have thought this even of you."

"Even of me! That is complimentary. I now learn what a low estimate
you have of me. But see how unjust you are. The musical commissaries
of the church militant are ever saying, 'It's a pity the devil should
have all the good music,' and so half the Sunday-school tunes, and
many sung in churches, have had a lower origin than my drinking-song.
I assure you that the words are as fine as the air. Why have I not as
good a right to steal a tune from the devil as the rest of them?"

"It's the motive that makes all the difference," said Annie. "But I
fear that in this case the devil suffered no loss."

"I'm sure my motive was not bad. I only wished to see a bonny smile
light up your face."

Before she could reply the carriage stopped at Mr. Walton's door, and
with Mr. Gregory she passed into the cosey parlor. Her father did not
immediately join them.

As Gregory looked at her while she took off her wraps, he thought, "By
Jove! she's handsome if she is not pretty."

In fact Annie's face at that time would have attracted attention
anywhere. The crisp air had given her a fine color. Her eyes glowed
with suppressed excitement and anger, while the firm lines about the
mouth indicated that when she spoke it would be decidedly. In spite of
herself the audacity, cleverness, and wickedness of this stranger had
affected her greatly. As he threw off his moodiness, as he revealed
himself by word and action, she saw that he was no ordinary character,
but a thorough man of the world, and with some strange caprices. The
suspicion crossed her mind that he might be not only in peril himself
but also a source of danger. She had determined during the ride home
that even though he meant no slur upon sacred things he should carry
his mocking spirit no more into them. Therefore, after a moment's
thought, she turned toward him with a manner of mingled frankness and
dignity, and said, "Mr. Gregory, I regret what has occurred this
evening. I have a painful sense of the ludicrous, and you have taken
unfair advantage of it. I am usually better and happier for going to
our simple little meeting, but now I can think of the whole hour only
with pain. I think I am as mirth-loving as the majority of my age, and
perhaps more so. I say truly that my heart is very light and happy.
But, Mr. Gregory, we look at certain things very differently from you.
While I would not for a moment have you think that religion brings
into my life gloom and restraint--quite the reverse--still it gives me
great pain when anything connected with my faith is made a matter of
jest. These things are sacred to us, and I know my father would feel
deeply grieved if he understood you this evening. Do you not see? It
appears to us differently from what it does to you and perhaps to the
world at large. These things are to us what your mother's memory is to
you. I would sooner cut off my right hand than trifle with that."

Gregory had been able to maintain his quizzical look of mischief till
she named his mother; then his face changed instantly. A flush of
shame crossed it, and after a moment, with an expression something
like true manhood, he stepped forward and took Annie's hand, saying,
"Miss Walton, I sincerely ask your pardon. I did not know--I could not
believe that you felt as you do. I will give you no further reason to
complain of me on this ground. I hope you will forgive me."

She at once relented, and said:

"'Who by repentance is not satisfied
Is not of heaven nor earth.'

There is an apt quotation from your favorite Shakespeare."

"You seem a delightful mixture of both, Miss Walton."

"If you were a better judge, sir, you would know that the earthly
ingredient is too great. But that is in your favor, for I am
sufficiently human to make allowance for human folly."

"I shall tax your charity to the utmost."

As Gregory sat in his arm-chair recalling the events of the day before
retiring, he thought: "Well, my attempt has failed signally. While by
her involuntary smile she showed that she was human, she has also
managed this evening to prove that she is perfectly sincere in her
religion, and to render it impossible for me to assail her in that
direction again. As the old hymn goes, I must 'let her religious hours
alone.' But how far her religion or superstition will control her
action is another question. I have learned both at home and abroad
that people can be very religious and very sincere in matters of faith
and ceremony, and jealous of any hand stretched out to touch their
sacred ark, but when through with the holy business they can live the
life of very ordinary mortals. This may be true of Miss Walton. At any
rate I have made a mistake in showing my hand somewhat at a prayer-
meeting, for women are so tenacious on religious matters. Deference,
personal attention, and compliments--these are the irresistible
weapons. These inflate pride and vanity to such a degree that a
miserable collapse is necessary. And yet I must be careful, for she is
not like some belles I know, who have the swallow of a whale for
flattery. She is too intelligent, too refined, to take compliments as
large and glaring as a sunflower. Something in the way of a moss-rose
bud will accomplish more. I will appear as if falling under her power;
as if bewitched by her charms. Nothing pleases your plain girls more
than to be thought beautiful. I shall have her head turned in a week.
I am more bent than ever on teaching this little Puritan that she and
I live upon the same level."

Saturday morning dawned clear and bracing, and the grass was white
with hoar-frost. The children came in to breakfast with glowing cheeks
and hair awry, crying excitedly in the same breath that they "had been
to the chestnut trees and that Jack had opened the burrs all night."

In answer to their clamorous petitions a one-o'clock dinner was
promised, and Aunt Annie was to accompany them on a nutting expedition
with Jeff as pioneer to thresh and club the trees.

"Can I go too?" Gregory asked of the children.

"I suppose so," said Johnny, rather coldly; "if Aunt Annie is
willing."

"You can go with me," said kind-hearted little Susie.

"Now I can go whether Aunt Annie is willing or not," said Gregory,
with mock defiance at the boy.

He glanced at his aunt's face to gather how he should take this, but
she settled the matter satisfactorily to him by saying, "You shall be
my beau, and Mr. Gregory will be Susie's."

"Good, good!" exclaimed Susie. "I've got a beau already;" and she
beamed upon Gregory in a way that made them all laugh.

"'Coming events cast their shadows before,' you perceive, Miss
Walton," said he, meaningly.

"Sometimes the events themselves are but shadows," she replied, dryly.

"Now that is severe upon the beaux. How about the belles?" he asked,
quickly.

"I have nothing to say against my own sex, sir."

"That is not fair. Of course I can say nothing adverse."

"If you should say what you think, I fear we should be little inclined
to cry with Shylock, 'A Daniel come to judgment!'"

"You have a dreadful opinion of me, Miss Walton. I wish you would
teach me how I can change it."

"You discovered so much in a chestnut burr the day you came I should
not be surprised if you could find anything else there that you wish
to know."

"I shall not look in burrs for chestnuts this afternoon, but for
something else far more important."

Gregory spent the forenoon quietly in his own room reading, in order
that he might have all the vigor possible for the ramble. And to
Annie, as housekeeper, Saturday morning brought many duties.

By two o'clock the nutting expedition was organized, and with Jeff in
advance, carrying a short ladder and a long limber pole, the party
started for the hills. At first Johnny, oppressed with his dignity as
Aunt Annie's "beau," stalked soberly at her side, and Susie also
claimed Gregory according to agreement, and insisted on keeping hold
of his hand.

He submitted with such grace as he could muster, for children were
tiresome to him, and he wanted to talk to Miss Walton, without "little
pitchers with large ears" around.

Annie smiled to herself at his half-concealed annoyance and his wooden
gallantry to Susie, but she understood child life well enough to know
that the present arrangement would not last very long. And she was
right. They had hardly entered the shady lane leading to the trees
before a chipmonk, with its shrill note of exclamation at unexpected
company, started out from some leaves near and ran for its hole.

Away went Aunt Annie's beau after it, and Susie also, quite oblivious
of her first possession in that line, joined in the pursuit. There was
an excited consultation above the squirrel's retreat, and then Johnny
took out his knife and cut a flexible rod with which to investigate
the "robber's den."

Gregory at once joined Annie, saying, "Since the beau of your choice
has deserted you, will you accept of another?"

"Yes, till he proves alike inconstant."

"I will see to that. A burr shall be my emblem."

"Or I do," she added, laughing.

"Now the future is beyond my power."

"Perhaps it is anyway. Johnny was bent upon being a true knight. You
may see something that will be to you what the chipmonk was to him."

"And such is your opinion of man's constancy? Miss Walton, you are
more of a cynic than I am."

"Indeed! Do women dwell in your fancy as fixed stars?"

"Fixed stars are all suns, are they not? I know of one with wonderful
powers of attraction," said he, with a significant glance.

"Does she live in New York?" quietly asked Annie.

"You know well she does not. She is a votaress of nature, and, as I
said, I shall search in every burr for the hidden clew to her favor."

"You had better look for chestnuts, sir."

"Chestnuts! Fit food for children and chipmonks. I am in quest of the
only manna that ever fell from heaven. Have you read Longfellow's
'Golden Legend,' Miss Walton?"

"Yes," she replied, with a slight contraction of the brow as if the
suggestion were not pleasing.

The children now came running toward them and wished to resume their
old places. "No, sir," said Walter, decisively. "You deserted your
lady's side and your place is filled; and Susie--

"'Thou fair, false one,'

--you renounced me for a chipmonk. My wounded heart has found solace
in another."

Johnny received this charge against his gallantry with a red face and
eyes that began to dilate with anger, while Susie looked at Gregory
poutingly and said, "I don't like big beaux. I think chipmonks are
ever so much nicer."

The laugh that followed broke the force of the storm that was brewing;
and Annie, by saying, "See, children, Jeff is climbing the tree on top
of the hill; I wonder who will get the first nuts," caused the wind to
veer round from the threatening quarter, and away they scampered with
grievances all forgotten.

"If grown-up children could only forget their troubles as easily!"
sighed Gregory. "Miss Walton, you are gifted with admirable tact. Your
witchery has cleared up another storm."

"They have not forgotten," said Annie, ignoring the compliment--"they
have only been diverted from their trouble. Children can do by nature
what we should from intelligent choice--turn away the mind from
painful subjects to those that are pleasing. You don't catch me
brooding over trouble when there are a thousand pleasant things to
think of."

"That is easier said than done, Miss Walton. I read on your smooth
brow that you have had few serious troubles, and, as you say,
'_you_ have a thousand pleasant things to think of.' But with others
it may be very different. Some troubles have a terrible magnetism that
draws the mind back to them as if by a malign spell, and there are no
'pleasant things to think of.'"

"No 'pleasant things'? Why, Mr. Gregory! The universe is very wide."

"Present company excepted," replied he gallantly. "But what do I care
for the universe? As you say, it is 'very wide'--a big, uncomfortable
place, in which one is afraid of getting lost."

"I am not," said Annie, gently.

"How so?"

"It's all my Father's house. I am never for a moment lost sight of.
Wherever I am, I am like a little child playing outside the door while
its mother, unseen, is watching it from the window."

He looked at her keenly to see if she were perfectly sincere. Her face
had the expression of a child, and the thought flashed across him, "If
she is so watched and guarded, how vain are my attempts!"

But he only said with a shrug, "It would be a pity to dissipate your
happy superstition, Miss Walton, but after what I have seen and
experienced in the world it would seem more generally true that the
mother forgot her charge, left the window, and the child was run over
by the butcher's cart."

"Do you think it vain confidence," said Annie, earnestly, "when I say
that you could not dissipate what you term my 'superstition,' any more
than you could argue me out of my belief in my good old father's
love?"




CHAPTER XIII

INTERPRETING CHESTNUT BURRS



The conversation had taken a turn that Gregory wished to avoid, so he
said: "Miss Walton, you regard me as wretched authority on theology,
and therefore my opinions will go for nothing. Suppose we join the
children on the hill, for I am most anxious to commence the search for
the clew to your favor. Give me your hand, that as your attendant I
may at least appear to assist you in climbing, though I suppose you
justly think you could help me more than I can you."

"And if I can, why should I not?" asked Annie, kindly.

"Indeed, Miss Walton, I would crawl up first. But thanks to your
reviving influences, I am not so far gone as that."

"Then you would not permit a woman to reach out a helping hand to you?
Talk not against Turks and Arabs. How do Christian men regard us?"

"But you look upon me as a 'heathen.'"

"Beg your pardon, I do not."

"Miss Walton, give your honest opinion of me--just what you think."

"Will you do the same of me?"

"Oh, certainly!"

"No, do not answer in that tone. On your honor."

Gregory was now caught. If he agreed he must state his doubts of her
real goodness; his low estimate of women in general which led to his
purpose to tempt her. This would not only arm her against his efforts,
but place him in a very unpleasant light. "I beat a retreat, Miss
Walton. I am satisfied that your opinion would discourage me utterly."

"You need have no fears of that kind," she said; "although my opinion
would not be flattering it would be most encouraging."

"No, Miss Walton, I am not to be caught. My every glance and word
reveal my opinion of you, while yours of me amounts to what I used to
hear years ago: 'You are a bad boy now, but may become a good one.'
Come, give me your hand."

As she complied she gave him a quick, keen look. Her intuition told
her of something hidden, and he puzzled her.

Her hand was ungloved, and he thought, "When have I clasped such a
hand before? It could help a Hercules. At any rate he would like to
hold it, for it is alive."

There is as much diversity of character in hands as in faces. Some are
very white and shapely, and a diamond flashes prettily upon them, but
having said this you have said all. Others suggest honest work and
plenty of it, and for such the sensible will ever have a genuine
respect. There are some hands that make you think of creatures whose
blood is cold. A lady's hand in society often suggests feebleness,
lack of vitality. It is a thing to touch decorously, and if feeling
betray you into giving a hearty grasp and pressure, you find that you
are only causing pain and reducing the member to a confused jumble of
bones and sinews. There are hands that suggest fancy-work, light
crochet needles, and neuralgia.

Annie's hand was not one that a sculptor would care to copy, though he
would find no great fault with it; but a sculptor would certainly take
pleasure in shaking hands with her--the pleasure that is the opposite
of our shrinking from taking the hand of the dead. It was soft and
delicate to the pressure, and yet firm. It reminded one of silk drawn
over steel, and was all electric and throbbing with life. You felt
that it could give you the true grasp of friendship--that it had power
to do more than barely cling to something--that it could both help and
sustain, yet its touch would be gentleness itself beside the couch of
suffering.

When they had reached the brow of the hill he was much more exhausted
than she, and sat down panting.

"Miss Walton," he asked, "do you not despise a feeble man?"

"What kind of feebleness do you mean?"

"The weakness that makes me sit pale and panting here, while you stand
there glowing with life and vigor, a veritable Hebe."

"All your compliments cannot balance that imputation against me. Such
weakness awakens my pity, sympathy, and wish to help."

"Ah! the emotions you would bestow on a beggar--very agreeable to a
_man_. Well, what kind of feebleness do you despise?"

"I think I should despise a feeble, vacillating Hercules most of all--
a burly, assuming sort of person, who could be made a tool of, and led
to do what he knew to be mean and wrong."

"You must despise a great many people then."

"No, I do not. Honestly, Mr. Gregory, I have no right to despise any
one. I was only giving the reverse of my ideal man. But I assure you I
share too deeply in humanity's faults to be very critical."

"I am delighted to hear, Miss Walton, that you share in our fallen
humanity, for I was beginning to doubt it, and you can well understand
that I should be dreadfully uncomfortable in the presence of
perfection."

"If you could escape all other sources of discomfort as surely as this
one, you would be most happy," replied Annie, with heightened color.
"I shall ever think you are satirical when you speak in such style."

"A truce, Miss Walton; only, in mercy to my poor mortality, be as
human as you can. Though you seem to suspect me of a low estimate of
your sex, I much prefer women to saints and Madonnas. I am going to
look for the burr."

This was adroitness itself on the part of Gregory, for, of all things,
sensible Annie, conscious of faults and many struggles, did not wish
to give the impression that she thought herself approaching
perfection. And yet he had managed to make her sensitive on that
point, and given her a strong motive to relax strict rules of duty,
and act "like other people," as he would say.

Jeff's limber pole was now doing effective service. With many a soft
thud upon the sward and leaves the burrs rained around, while the
detached chestnuts rattled down like hail. The children were careering
about this little tempest of Jeff's manufacture in a state of wild
glee, dodging the random burrs, and snatching what nuts they could in
safety on the outskirts of the prickly shower. At last the tree was
well thrashed, and bad the appearance of a school-boy bully who, after
bristling with threats and boasts for a long time, suddenly meets his
master and is left in a very meek and plucked condition.

But the moment Jeff's pole ceased its sturdy strokes there was a rush
for the spoils, the children awakening the echoes with their
exclamations of delight as they found the ground covered with what was
more precious to them than gold. Even Gregory's sluggish pulses
tingled and quickened at the well-remembered scene, and he felt a
little of their excitement. For the moment he determined to be a boy
again, and running into the charmed circle, picked away as fast as any
of them till his physical weakness painfully reminded him that his old
tireless activity had passed away, perhaps forever.

He leaned against the trunk of the tree and noted with something of an
artist's eye the pretty picture. The valley beneath was beginning to
glow with the richest October tints, in the midst of which was his old
home, that to his affection seemed like a gem set in gold, ruby, and
emerald. The stream appeared white and silvery as seen through
openings of the bordering trees, and in the distance the purple haze
and mountains blended together, leaving it uncertain where the granite
began, as in Gregory's mind fact and fancy were confusedly mingling in
regard to Miss Walton.

And he soon turned from even that loved and beautiful landscape to her
as an object of piquant interest, and the pleasure of analyzing and
testing her character, and--well, some hidden fascination of her own,
caused a faint stir of excitement at his heart, even as the October
air and exercise had just tinged his pale cheeks.