Isabella L. Bird - "The Hawaiian Archipelago"

Andrew Lang - "The Lilac Fairy Book"

Lillian Elizabeth Roy - "Polly of Pebbly Pit"

John Lothrop Motley - "The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1573"

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: Her Weight in Gold

G >> George Barr McCutcheon >> Her Weight in Gold




"Oh, by the way, while I think of it, how did you happen to have that
ten?" he asked, with cruel glee.

She felt even guiltier than he and her voice was quite feeble as she
answered:

"Well, you remember when I was mending your trousers," she began. He
gave her arm a tremendous pressure and interrupted:

"But the hole wasn't in the pocket, dear, was it?"

"Oh, you'll forgive me, won't you truly, Digby?" she almost wailed.

"But you were stealing!" he said, solemnly, recalling her condemnatory
words.

"Don't say it that way, Digby," she protested, so faintly that his
heart smote him and he changed the subject with almost ridiculous
haste.

"Hadn't we better go to another grocery and buy our Christmas dinner,"
he suggested.

"No, indeed!" she exclaimed. "With what could we buy it!"

"With my--your ten, I mean."

"Digby Trotter, we may carry on our nefarious robberies as
individuals, but I don't intend to form a partnership in the business.
I don't approve of doing it collectively."

"But what will we do with the money? Burn it?"

"I thought you wanted to give it back to its owner."

"But he won't miss it--not just yet, anyhow," he expostulated.

"Neither shall you; you are never to see it again," she said, firmly,
clasping the little purse defiantly.

"Well, I guess you're right. We'll do without our turkey dinner. It's
pretty rough, though, when we are nearer being millionaires than we
have been in months," he said, regretfully.

"I couldn't eat a mouthful of turkey bought with Joe Delapere's
money," she said, and he felt his heart throb joyfully for some
strange cause.

Homeward they wended their disconsolate way, her arm through his,
clinging fondly to him, he proud of the honour she was bestowing upon
him--poor, poor lovers! In spite of all, he felt better for that which
had happened. He had begun what might have been a career of crime.
Circumstance and her sweet influence had averted that career. She,
too, had learned a lesson, deeper in its meaning than any logic could
have been; she had distrusted him. Honour, love and duty bound them
together again. They were going home to dine on dried beef, water and
perhaps bread--Christmas day, too.

Firmly they turned their wistful eyes from the shop windows; they had
nothing in common with them, save desire.

At last they came to the dingy entrance which led to the long halls
and multigenerous stairways of their abiding place. Without a word
they began to climb the steps, tired and with returning
discouragement. They were thinking of the baby. Tears came to the
father's eyes, but he turned his face away and attempted to whistle.
She pressed his arm again in silence, but for the same reason she
looked toward the wall. At the first landing he paused and drew her to
his breast. As their lips met in one brave, compassionate kiss a sob
fled from the heart of each.

Drawing nearer the top floor they heard strange sounds coming from
their own room. A gruff, hoarse voice was prominent and they stopped
to look into each other's eyes with hopeless alarm.

"It's the landlord," whispered Digby. "I might have known it would all
come at once!"

"What shall we do?" asked Kate, with feminine dismay.

"Do? What do we usually do? Nothing! I don't know how I'm going to put
him off again--we're over three weeks behind with the rent. Oh, Kate!"
he almost sobbed.

"Well, dear!" She was trembling. So was he.

"What if he orders us to leave the place?" She could not reply and
they stood silent, looking toward the door that they feared to enter.

"Where is the baby?" he finally asked.

"I left her with the woman across the hall."

"But I hear her voice in our room. What is she doing in there with
that infernal old brute?" Digby's alert ear had caught the sound of
the child's prattle, mingling with the discordant growls of the man.

"Oh, Digby, I'm so frightened! What can they be doing in there?"

"Don't be afraid. I'll chuck him out of there on his head if he has
been tormenting that child with his compliments--and it would be just
like the old scoundrel, too." He took several steps forward.

"Do be careful!" murmured his wife, following faithfully. Digby threw
open the door defiantly and stood glaring into the little room.

A big, portly man was seated near the stove, little Helen on his knee.
As the door opened he raised his chop-whiskered face and then, placing
the child on the floor, drew himself erect and came hastily toward the
pair in the doorway, exclaiming:

"My boy! At last I have got you! God knows I've searched the town over
and over for you--and I find you in a hole like this! Come to my arms
--oh, demme! demme! demme!"