E. P. Roe - "Nature's Serial Story"

Randall Parrish - "My Lady of the North"

Jacob William Wright - "The Long Ago"

Elias Johnson - "Legends, Traditions, and Laws of the Iroquois, or Six Nations, and History of the Tuscarora Indians"

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




But Miss Walton reminded him of a young sugar maple that he had
noticed, all aflame, from his window that morning, so rich and high
was her color, as, still intent upon the thickly scattered nuts, she
followed the old unspent childish impulse to gather now as she had
done when of Susie's age. With a half-wondering smile Gregory watched
her intent expression, so like that of the other children, and
thought, "Well, she is the freshest and most unhackneyed girl I have
ever met for one who knows so much. It seems true, as she said, that
she draws her life from nature and will never grow old. Now she is a
child with those children, looking and acting like them. A moment
later she will be a self-possessed young lady, with a quick, trained
intellect that I can scarcely cope with. And yet in each and every
character she seems so real and vital that even I, in spite of myself,
feel compelled to admit her truth. Her life is like a glad, musical
mountain stream, while I am a stagnant pool that she passes and leaves
behind. I wonder if it is possible for one life to be awakened and
quickened by another. I wonder if her vital force would be strong
enough to drag another on who had almost lost the power to follow. It
is said that young fresh blood can be infused directly into the veins
of the old and feeble. Can the same be true of moral forces, and a
glad zest and interest in life be breathed into the jaded, cloyed,
ennui-cursed spirit of one who regards existence with dull eye,
sluggish pulse, and heart of lead? It seems to me that if any one
could have such power it would be that girl there with her intense
vitality and subtle connection with nature, which, as she says, is
ever young and vigorous. And yet I propose to reveal her to herself as
a weak, vain creature, whose fair seeming like a pasteboard castle
falls before the breath of flattery. By Jove, I half hope I shan't
succeed, and yet to satisfy myself I shall carry the test to the
utmost limit."

In her absorbed search for nuts, Annie had approached the trunk of the
tree, and was stooping almost at Gregory's feet without noticing him.
Suddenly she turned up a burr whose appearance so interested her that
she stood up to examine it, and then became conscious of his intent
gaze.

"There you stand," she said, "cool and superior, criticising and
laughing at me as a great overgrown child."

"If you had looked more closely you would have seen anything rather
than cool criticism in my face. I wish you could tell me your secret,
Miss Walton. What is your hidden connection with Nature, that her
strong, beautiful life flows so freely into yours?"

"You would not believe me if I told you."

"Indeed, Miss Walton, I should be inclined to believe anything you
told me, you seem so real. But, pardon me, you have in your hand the
very burr I have been looking vainly for. Perhaps in it I may find the
coveted clew to your favor. It may winningly suggest to you my
meaning, while plain, bald words would only repel. If I could only
interpret Nature as you breathe her spirit I might find that the
autumn leaves were like illuminated pages, and every object--even such
an insignificant one as this burr--an inspired illustration. When men
come to read Nature's open book, publishers may despair. _If_ I wished
to tell you how I would dwell in your thoughts, what poet has written
anything equal to this half-open burr? It portrays our past, it gives
our present relations, and suggests the future; only, like all
parables, it must not be pressed too far, and too much prominence must
not be given to some mere detail. These prickly outward pointing
spines represent the reserve and formality which keep comparative
strangers apart. But now the burr is half-open, revealing its heart of
silk and down. So if one could get past the barriers which you, alike
with all, turn toward an indifferent or unfriendly world, a kindliness
would be found that would surround a cherished friend as these silken
sides envelop this sole and favored chestnut. Again, note that the
burr is half-open, indicating, I hope, the progress we have made
toward such friendship. I have no true friend in the wide world that I
can trust, and I would like to believe that your regard, like this
burr, is opening toward me. The final suggestion that I should draw
may seem selfish, and yet is it not natural? This chestnut dwells
alone in the very centre of the burr. We do not like to share a
supreme friendship. There are some in whose esteem we would be first."

When Gregory finished he was half-frightened at his words, for in
developing his fanciful parallel in the bold style of gallantry he had
learned to employ toward the belles of the ball-room, and from a
certain unaccountable fascination that Annie herself had for him, he
had said more than he meant.

"Good heavens!" he thought, "if she should take this for a declaration
and accept me on the spot, I should then be in the worst scrape of my
sorry life."

Miss Walton's manner rather puzzled him. Her heightened color and
quickened breathing were alarming, while the contraction of her brow
and the firmness of her lips, together with an intent look on the
chestnut in the centre of the burr, rather than a languishing look at
him or at nothing, were more assuring. She perplexed him still more
when, as her only response to all this sentiment, she asked, "Mr.
Gregory, will you lend me your penknife?"

Without a word he handed it to her, and she at the same time took the
burr from his hand, and daintily plucking out the chestnut tossed the
burr rather contemptuously away. "Mr. Gregory, if I understand your
rather far-fetched and forced interpretation of this little 'parable
of nature,' you chose to represent yourself by this great lonely
chestnut occupying the space where three might have grown. On
observing this emblematic nut closely I detect something that may also
have a place in your 'parable';" and she pushed aside the little quirl
at the small end of the nut, which partially concealed a worm-hole,
and cutting through the shell showed the destroyer in the very heart
of the kernel.

There was nothing far-fetched in this suggestion of nature, and he
saw--and he understood that Miss Walton saw--evil enthroned in the
very depths of his soul. The revelation of the hateful truth was so
sudden and sharp that his face darkened with involuntary pain and
anger. It seemed to him that, by the simple act of showing him the
worm-infested chestnut, she had rejected anything approaching even
friendship, and had also given him a good but humiliating reason why.
He lost his self-possession and forgot that he deserved a stinging
rebuke for his insincerity. He would have turned away in coldness and
resentment. His visit might have come to an abrupt termination, had
not Annie, with that delicate, womanly tact which was one of her most
marked characteristics, interrupted him as he was about to say
something to the effect, "Miss Walton, since you are so much holier
than I, it were better that I should contaminate the air you breathe
no longer."

She looked into his clouded face with an open smile, and said, "Mr.
Gregory, you have been unfortunate in the choice of a burr. Now let me
choose for you;" and she began looking around for one suited to her
taste and purpose.

This gave him time to recover himself and to realize the folly of
quarrelling or showing any special feeling in the matter. After a
moment he was only desirous of some pretext for laughing it off, but
how to manage it he did not know, and was inwardly cursing himself as
a blundering fool, and no match for this child of nature.

Annie soon came toward him, saying, "Perhaps this burr will suggest
better meanings. You see it is wide open. That means perfect
frankness. There are three chestnuts here instead of one. We must be
willing to share the regard of others. One of these nuts has the
central place. As we come to know people well, we usually find some
one occupying the supreme place in their esteem, and though we may
approach closely we should not wish to usurp what belongs to another.
Under Jeff's vigorous blows the burr and its contents have had a
tremendous downfall, but they have not parted company. True friends
should stick together in adversity. What do you think of my
interpretation?"

"I think you are a witch, beyond doubt, and if you had lived a few
centuries ago, you would have been sent to heaven in a chariot of
fire."

"Really, Mr. Gregory, you give me a _hot_ answer, but it is with such
a smiling face that I will take no exception. Let us slowly follow
Jeff and the children along the brow of the hill to the next tree. The
fact is I am a little tired."

What controversy could a man have with a pretty and wearied girl?
Gregory felt like a boy who had received a deserved whipping and yet
was compelled and somewhat inclined to act very amiably toward the
donor. But he was fast coming to the conclusion that this unassuming
country girl was a difficult subject on which to perform his
experiment. He was learning to have a wholesome respect for her that
was slightly tinged with fear, and doubts of success in his plot
against her grew stronger every moment. And yet the element of
persistence was large in his character, and he could not readily give
over his purpose, though his cynical confidence had vanished. He now
determined to observe her closely and discover if possible her weak
points. He still held to the theory that flattery was the most
available weapon, though he saw he could employ it no longer in the
form of fulsome and outspoken compliment. The innate refinement and
truthfulness of Annie's nature revolted at broad gallantry and
adulation. He believed that he must reverse the tactics he usually
employed in society, but not the principles. Therefore he resolved
that his flattery should be delicate, subtle, manifested in manner
rather than in words. He would seem submissive; he would humbly wear
the air of a conquered one. He would delicately maintain the "I-am-at-
your-mercy" attitude.

These thoughts flashed through his mind as they passed along the brow
of the hill, which at every turn gave them a new and beautiful
landscape. But vales in Eden would not have held his attention then.
To his perplexity this new acquaintance had secured his undivided
interest. He felt that he ought to be angry at her and yet was not. He
felt that a man who had seen as much of the world as he should be able
to play with this little country girl as with a child; but he was
becoming convinced that, with all his art, he was no match for her
artlessness.

In the interpretation of the burr of her own choice, Annie had
suggested that the central and supreme place in her heart was already
occupied, and his thoughts recurred frequently to that fact with
uneasiness. The slightest trace of jealousy, even as the merest twinge
of pain is often precursor of serious disease, indicated the power
Miss Walton might gain over one who thought himself proof against all
such influence. But he tried to satisfy himself by thinking, "It is
her father who occupies the first place in her affections."

Then a moment later with a mental protest at his folly, "What do I
care who has the first place? It's well I do not, for she would not
permit such a reprobate as I, with evil in my heart like that cursed
worm in the chestnut, to have any place worth naming--unless I can
introduce a little canker of evil in her heart also. I wish I could.
That would bring us nearer together and upon the same level." Annie
saw the landscapes. She looked away from the man by her side and for a
few moments forgot him. The scenes upon which she was gazing were
associated with another, and she ardently wished that that other and
more favored one could exchange places with Gregory. Her eyes grew
dreamy and tender as she recalled words spoken in days gone by, when,
her heart thrilling with a young girl's first dream of love, she had
leaned upon Charles Hunting's arm, and listened to that sweetest music
of earth, all the more enchanting when broken and incoherent; and
Hunting, with all his coolness and precision in Wall Street, had been
excessively nervous and unhappy in his phraseology upon one occasion,
and tremblingly glad to get any terms from the girl who seemed a child
beside him. Annie would not permit an engagement to take place.
Hunting was a distant relative. She had always liked him very much,
but was not sure she loved him. She was extremely reluctant to leave
her father, and was not ready for a speedy marriage; so she frankly
told him that he had no rival, nor was there a prospect of any, but
she would not bind him, or permit herself to be bound at that time. If
they were fated for each other the way would eventually be made
perfectly clear.

He was quite content, especially as Mr. Walton gave his hearty
approval to the match, and he regarded the understanding as a virtual
engagement. He wanted Annie to wear the significant ring, saying that
it should not be regarded as binding, but she declined to do so.

Nearly two years had passed, and, while she put him off, she satisfied
him that he was steadily gaining the place that he wished to possess
in her affections. He was gifted with much tact and did not press his
suit, but quietly acted as if the matter were really settled, and it
were only a question of time. Annie had also come to feel in the same
way. She did not see a very great deal of him, though he wrote
regularly, and his letters were admirable. He became her ideal man and
dwelt in her imagination as a demi-god. To the practical mind of this
American girl his successes in the vast and complicated transactions
of business were as grand as the achievements of any hero. Her father
had been a merchant, and she inherited a respect for the calling. Her
father also often assured her that her lover bade fair to lead in
commercial circles.

"Hunting has both nerve and prudence," he was wont to say; and to
impetuous Annie these qualities, combined with Christian principles,
formed her very ideal man.

Her lover took great pains not to undeceive her as to his character,
and indeed, with the infatuation of his class, hoped that, when he had
amassed the fortune that glittered ever just before him, he could
assume, in some princely mansion, the princely, knightly soul with
which she had endowed him.

So he did not press matters. Indeed in his rapid accumulation of money
he scarcely wished any interruption, and Annie thought all the more of
him that he was not dawdling around making love half the time. There
was also less danger of disenchanting her by his presence, for woman's
perception is quick.

But now she inwardly contrasted her strong, masterful knight, "_sans
peur et sans reproche_," as she believed, with the enfeebled, shrunken
man at her side. Gregory suffered dreadfully by the comparison. The
worm-eaten chestnut seemed truly emblematic, and in spite of herself
her face lighted up with exultation and joy that the man of her choice
was a _man_, and not one upon whom she could not lean for even
physical support.

Gregory caught her expression and said, quickly: "Your face is full of
sudden gleams. Tell me what you are thinking about."

She blushed deeply in the consciousness of her thoughts, but after a
moment said, "I do not believe in the confessional."

He looked at her keenly, saying, "I wish you did and that I were your
father confessor."

She replied, laughing, "You are neither old nor good enough. If I were
of that faith I should require one a great deal older and better than
myself. But here we are at our second tree, which Jeff has just
finished. I am going to be a child again and gather nuts as before. I
hope you will follow suit, and not stand leaning against the tree
laughing at me."




CHAPTER XIV

"A WELL-MEANIN' MAN"



The western horizon vied with the autumn foliage as at last they
turned homeward. Their path led out upon the main road some distance
above the house, and, laden with the spoils that would greatly
diminish the squirrels' hoard for the coming winter, they sauntered
along slowly, from a sense of both weariness and leisure.

They soon reached the cottage of the lame old man who had fired such a
broadside of lurid words at Gregory, as he stood on the fence
opposite. With a crutch under one arm and leaning on his gate, Daddy
Tuggar seemed awaiting them, and secured their attention by the
laconic salutation, "Evenin'!"

"Why, Daddy," exclaimed Annie, coming quickly toward him. "I am real
glad to see you so spry and well. It seems to me that you are getting
young again;" and she shook the old man's hand heartily.

"Now don't praise my old graveyard of a body, Miss Annie. My sperit is
pert enough, but it's all buried up in this old clumsy, half-dead
carcass. The worms will close their mortgage on it purty soon."

"But they haven't a mortgage on your soul," said Annie, in a low tone.
"You remember what I said to you a few days ago."

"Now bless you, Miss Annie, but it takes you to put in a 'word in
season.' The Lord knows I'm a well-meanin' man, but I can't seem to
get much furder. I've had an awful 'fall from grace,' my wife says. I
did try to stop swearin', but that chap there--"

"Oh, excuse me," interrupted Annie. "Mr. Gregory, this is our friend
and neighbor Mr. Tuggar. I was under the impression that you were
acquainted," she added, with a mischievous look at her companion.

"We are. I have met this gentleman before," he replied, with a wry
face. "Pardon the interruption, Mr. Tuggar, and please go on with your
explanation."

"Mr. Gregory, I owe you a 'pology. I'm a well-meanin' man, and if I do
any one a wrong I'm willin' to own it up and do the square thing. But
I meant right by you and I meant right by John Walton when I thought
you was stealin' his apples. I couldn't hit yer with a stun and knock
yer off the fence, as I might a dozen years ago, so I took the next
hardest thing I could lay hands on. If I'd known that you was kinder
one of the family my words would have been rolls of butter."

"Well, Mr. Tuggar, it has turned out very well, for _I_ would rather
you had fired what you did than either stones or butter."

"Now my wife would say that that speech showed you was 'totally
depraved.' And this brings me back to my 'fall from grace.' Now, yer
see, to please my wife some and Miss Eulie more, I was tryin' cussed
hard to stop swearin'--"

"Didn't you try a little for my sake, too?" interrupted Annie.

"Lord bless you, child; I don't have to try when you're around, for I
don't think swearin'. Most folks rile me, and I get a-thinkin'
swearin', and then 'fore I know it busts right out. _You_ could take
the wickedest cuss livin' to heaven in spite of himself if you would
stay right by him all the time."

"I should 'rile' you, too, if I were with you long, for I get 'riled'
myself sometimes."

"Do you, now?" asked Mr. Tuggar, looking at her admiringly. "Well, I'm
mighty glad to hear it."

"O Daddy! glad to hear that I do wrong?"

"Can't help it, Miss Annie. I kinder like to know you're a little bit
of a sinner. 'Tain't often I meet with a sinner, and I kind o' like
'em. My wife says she's a 'great sinner,' but she means she's a great
saint. 'Twouldn't do for me to tell her she's a 'sinner.' Then Miss
Eulie says she's a 'great sinner,' and between you and me that's the
only fib I ever caught Miss Eulie in. Good Lord! there's no more sin
in Miss Eulie's heart than there is specks of dirt on the little white
ruff she wears about her neck that looks like the snow we had last
April around the white hyacinths. She's kind of a half-sperit anyhow.
Now your goodness, Miss Annie, is another kind. Your cheeks are so
red, and eyes so black, and arms so round and fat--I've seen 'em when
you was over here a-beatin' up good things for the old man--that you
make me think of red and pink posies. I kinder think you might be a
little bit of a sinner--just enough, you know, to make you understand
how I and him there can be mighty big ones, and not be too hard on us
for it."

"Mr. Tuggar, you are the man of all others to plead my cause."

"Now look here, young gentleman, you must do yer own pleadin'. It
would be a 'sinful waste of time' though, as my wife would say--eh,
Miss Annie? I never had no luck at pleadin' but once, and that was the
worst luck of all."

Annie's face might well suggest "red posies" during the last remarks,
and its expression was divided between a frown and a laugh.

"But I want you to understand," continued Daddy Tuggar, straightening
himself up with dignity, and addressing Gregory, "that I'm not a mean
cuss. All who know me know I'm a well-meanin' man. I try to do as I'd
be done by. If I'm going through a man's field and find his bars down,
so the cattle would get in the corn, I'd put 'em up--"

"Yes, Daddy, that is what you always say," interrupted Annie; "but you
can't go through the fields any more and put up bars. You should try
to do the duties that belong to your present state."

"But I've got the sperit to put up a man's bars, and it's all the same
as if I did put 'em up," answered the old man, with some irritation.
"Miss Eulie and the rest of yer is allers sayin' we must have the
sperit of willingness to give up the hull world and suffer martyrdom
on what looks in the picture like a big gridiron. She says we must
have the sperit of them who was cold and hungry and the lions eat up
and was sawn in two pieces and had an awful time generally for the
sake of the Lord, and that's the way the Christians manage it
nowadays. My wife gets all the money she can and keeps it, but she
says she has the sperit to give up the hull world. I wish she'd give
up enough of it to keep me in good terbacker. Mighty few nice bits
would the old man git wasn't it for you and Miss Eulie. Then I watch
the good people goin' to church. 'Mazin' few out wet Sundays. But no
doubt they've all got the 'sperit' to go. They would jist as lief be
sawn in two pieces 'in sperit' as not, if they can only sleep late in
the mornin' and have a good dinner and save their Sunday-go-to-meetin'
clothes from gettin' wet. It must be so, for the Lord gets mighty
little worship out of the church on rainy Sundays. If it wasn't for
you and Miss Eulie I don't know what would become of the old man and
all the rest of the sick and feeble foiks around here. I ask my wife
why she doesn't go to see 'em sometimes. She says she has the 'sperit
to go,' but she hasn't time and strength. So I have the 'sperit' to
put up a man's bars while I sit here and smoke, and what's more, Miss
Annie, I did it as long as I was able."

"You did indeed, Daddy, and, though unintentionally, you have given me
a good lesson. We little deserve to be mentioned with those Christians
who in olden times suffered the loss of all things, and life itself."

"Lord bless you, child, I didn't mean you. Whether you've got the
sperit to do a thing or not yer allers do it, and in a sweet, natteral
way, as if you couldn't help it. When my wife enters on a good work it
makes me think of a funeral. I'm 'mazin' glad you didn't live in old
times, 'cause the lions would have got you sure 'nuff. Though, if it
had to be, I would kinder liked to have been the lion:" and the old
man's eyes twinkled humorously, while Gregory laughed heartily.

"Oh, Daddy Tuggar!" exclaimed Annie, "that is the most awful
compliment I ever received. If you, with your spirit, were the only
lion I had to deal with, I should never become a martyr. You shall
have some jelly instead, and now I must go home in order to have it
made before Sunday."

"Wait a moment," said Gregory. "You were about to tell us how I caused
you to 'fall from grace.'"

"So I was, so I was, and I've been goin' round Robin Hood's barn ever
since. Well, I'd been holdin' in on my swearin' a long time, 'cause I
promised Miss Eulie I'd stop if I could. My wife said I was in quite a
'hopeful state,' while I felt all the time as if I was sort of bottled
up and the cork might fly out any minute. Miss Eulie, she came and
rejoiced over me that mornin', and my wife she looked so solemn (she
allers does when she says she feels glad) that somehow I got nervous,
and then my wife went to the store and didn't get the kind of
terbacker I sent for, and I knew the cork was going to fly out. I was
smokin' and in a sort of a doze, when the first thing I knowed a big
stun rolled into the road, and there I saw a strange chap, as I
thought, a stealin' John Walton's apples and knockin' down the fence.
If they'd a been my apples I might have held in a little longer, but
John Walton's--it was like a dam givin' way."

"It was, indeed," said Gregory, significantly. "It was like several."

"I knowed my wife heard me, and if she'd come right out and said,
'You've made a cussed old fool of yourself,' I think I would have felt
better. I knowed she was goin' to speak about it and lament over it,
and I wanted her to do it right away; but she put it off, and kept me
on pins and needles for ever so long. At last she said with solemn
joy, 'Thomas Tuggar, I told Miss Eulie I feared you was still in a
state of natur, and, alas! I am right; but how she'll mourn, how great
will be her disappointment, when she hears'; and then I fell into a
'state of natur' agin. Now, Miss Annie, if the Lord, Miss Eulie, and
you all could only see I'm a well-meanin' man, and that I don't mean
no disrespect to anybody; that it's only one of my old, rough ways
that I learned from my father--and mother too, for that matter, I'm
sorry to say--and have followed so long that it's bred in the bone, it
would save a heap of worry. One must have some way of lettin' off
steam. Now my wife she purses up her mouth so tight you couldn't stick
a pin in it when she's riled. I often say to her, 'Do explode. Open
your mouth and let it all out at once.' But she says it is not
becoming for such as her ter 'explode.' But it will come out all the
same, only it's like one of yer cold northeast, drizzlin', fizzlin'
rain-storms. And now I've made a clean breast of it, I hope you'll
kinder smooth matters over with Miss Eulie; and I hope you, sir, will
just think of what I said as spoken to a stranger and not a friend of
the family."