Gotthold Ephraim Lessing - "Nathan the Wise"

Byron J. Rees - "The Heart Cry of Jesus"

William Sangster - "Umbrellas and their History"

Hon. Geo. W. Peck - "Peck's Bad Boy With the Cowboys"

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 Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come

J >> John Fox, Jr. >> The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come




"Climb over and look, Chad," she said, leaning over the wall.

There was the grave of the Major's father which he knew so well; next that, to
the left, was a new mound under which rested the Major himself. To the right
was a stone marked "Chadwick Buford, born in Virginia, 1750, died in
Kentucky"--and then another stone marked simply:

Mary Buford.

"He had both brought from the mountains," said Margaret, softly, "and the last
time he was out of the house was when he leaned here to watch them buried
there. He said there would always be a place next your mother for you. 'Tell
the boy that,' he said." Chad put his arms around the tombstone and then sank
on one knee by his mother's grave. It was strewn with withered violets.

"You--YOU did that, Margaret?"

Margaret nodded through her tears.

. . . . . . .


The wonder of it! They stood very still, looking for a long time into each
other's eyes. Could the veil of the hereafter have been lifted for them at
that moment and they have seen themselves walking that same garden path, hand
in hand, their faces seamed with age to other eyes, but changed in not a line
to them, the vision would not have added a jot to their perfect faith. They
would have nodded to each other and smiled--"Yes, we know, we know!" The
night, the rushing earth, the star-swept spaces of the infinite held no
greater wonder than was theirs--they held no wonder at all. The moon shone,
that night, for them; the wind whispered, leaves danced, flowers nodded, and
crickets chirped from the grass for them; the farthest star kept eternal lids
apart just for them and beyond, the Maker himself looked down, that night,
just to bless them.

Back they went through the old garden, hand in hand. No caress had ever passed
between these two. That any man could ever dare even to dream of touching her
sacred lips had been beyond the boy's imaginings--such was the reverence in
his love for her--and his very soul shook when, at the gate, Margaret's eyes
dropped from his to the sabre cut on his cheek and she suddenly lifted her
face.

"I know how you got that, Chad," she said, and with her lips she gently
touched the scar. Almost timidly the boy drew her to him. Again her lips were
lifted in sweet surrender, and every wound that he had known in his life was
healed.

. . . . . .

"I'll show you your horse, Chad."

They did not waken old Tom, but went around to the stable and Chad led out a
handsome colt, his satiny coat shining in the moonlight like silver. He lifted
his proud head, when he saw Margaret, and whinnied.

"He knows his mistress, Margaret--and he's yours."

"Oh, no, Chad."

"Yes," said Chad, "I've still got Dixie."

"Do you still call her Dixie?"

"All through the war."

Homeward they went through the dewy fields.

"I wish I could have seen the Major before he died. If he could only have
known how I suffered at causing him so much sorrow. And if you could have
known."

"He did know and so did I--later. All that is over now."

They had reached the stone wall and Chad picked up the flag again.

"This is the only time I have ever carried this flag, unless I--unless it had
been captured."

"You had captured it, Chad."

"There?" Chad pointed to the stile and Margaret nodded.

"There--here everywhere."

Seated on the porch, Mrs. Dean and Harry and Dan saw them coming across the
field and Mrs. Dean sighed.

"Father would not say a word against it, mother," said the elder boy, "if he
were here."

"No," said Dan, "not a word."

"Listen, mother," said Harry, and he told the two about Chad's ride for Dan
from Frankfort to Lexington. "He asked me not to tell. He did not wish
Margaret to know. And listen again, mother. In a skirmish one day we were
fighting hand to hand. I saw one man with his pistol levelled at me and
another with his sabre lifted on Chad. He saw them both. My pistol was empty,
and do you know what he did? He shot the man who was about to shoot me instead
of his own assailant. That is how he got that scar. I did tell Margaret that."

"Yes, you must go down in the mountain first," Margaret was saying, "and see
if there is anything you can do for the people who were so good to you--and to
see Melissa. I am worried about her."

"And then I must come back to you?"

"Yes, you must come back to see me once more if you can. And then some day you
will come again and buy back the Major's farm" -- she stopped, blushing. "I
think that was his wish Chad, that you and I--but I would never let him say
it."

"And if that should take too long?"

"I will come to you, Chad," said Margaret.

Old Mammy came out on the porch as they were climbing the stile.

"Ole Miss," she said, indignantly, "my Tom say that he can't get nary a
triflin' nigger to come out hyeh to wuk, an' ef that cawnfiel' ain't ploughed
mighty soon, it's gwine to bu'n up."

"How many horses are there on the place, Mammy?" asked Dan.

"Hosses!" sniffed the old woman. "They ain't NARY a hoss--nothin' but two ole
broken-down mules."

"Well, I'll take one and start a plough myself," said Harry.

"And I'll take the other," said Dan.

Mammy groaned.

. . . . . .

And still the wonder of that night to Chad and Margaret!

"It was General Hunt who taught me to understand--and forgive. Do you know
what he said? That every man, on both sides, was right--who did his duty."

"God bless him," said Chad.



CHAPTER 31. THE WESTWARD WAY

Mother Turner was sitting in the porch with old Jack at her feet when Chad and
Dixie came to the gate--her bonnet off, her eyes turned toward the West. The
stillness of death lay over the place, and over the strong old face some
preternatural sorrow. She did not rise when she saw Chad, she did not speak
when he spoke. She turned merely and looked at him with a look of helpless
suffering. She knew the question that was on his lips, for she dumbly motioned
toward the door and then put her trembling hands on the railing of the porch
and bent her face down on them. With sickening fear, Chad stepped on the
threshold--cap in hand--and old Jack followed, whimpering. As his eyes grew
accustomed to the dark interior, he could see a sheeted form on a bed in the
corner and, on the pillow, a white face.

"Melissa!" he called, brokenly. A groan from the porch answered him, and, as
Chad dropped to his knees, the old woman sobbed aloud.

In low tones, as though in fear they might disturb the dead girl's sleep, the
two talked on the porch. Brokenly, the old woman told Chad how the girl had
sickened and suffered with never a word of complaint. How, all through the
war, she had fought his battles so fiercely that no one dared attack him in
her hearing. How, sick as she was, she had gone, that night, to save his life.
How she had nearly died from the result of cold and exposure and was never the
same afterward. How she worked in the house and in the garden to keep their
bodies and souls together, after the old hunter was shot down and her boys
were gone to the war. How she had learned the story of Chad's mother from old
Nathan Cherry's daughter and how, when the old woman forbade her going to the
Bluegrass, she had slipped away and gone afoot to clear his name. And then the
old woman led Chad to where once had grown the rose-bush he had brought
Melissa from the Bluegrass, and pointed silently to a box that seemed to have
been pressed a few inches into the soft earth, and when Chad lifted it, he saw
under it the imprint of a human foot--his own, made that morning when he held
out a rose-leaf to her and she had struck it from his hand and turned him, as
an enemy, from her door.

Chad silently went inside and threw open the window to let the last sunlight
in: and he sat there, with his face as changeless as the still face on the
pillow, sat there until the sun went down and the darkness came in and closed
softly about her. She had died, the old woman said, with his name on her lips.

. . . . . .

Dolph and Rube had come back and they would take good care of the old mother
until the end of her days. But. Jack--what should be done with Jack? The old
dog could follow him no longer. He could live hardly more than another year,
and the old mother wanted him--to remind her, she said, of Chad and of
Melissa, who had loved him. He patted his faithful old friend tenderly and,
when he mounted Dixie, late the next afternoon, Jack started to follow him.

"No, Jack," said Chad, and he rode on, with his eyes blurred. On the top of
the steep mountain he dismounted, to let his horse rest a moment, and sat on a
log, looking toward the sun. He could not go back to Margaret and
happiness--not now. It seemed hardly fair to the dead girl down in the valley.
He would send Margaret word, and she would understand.

Once again he was starting his life over afresh, with his old capital, a
strong body and a stout heart. In his breast still burned the spirit that had
led his race to the land, had wrenched it from savage and from king, had made
it the high temple of Liberty for the worship of freemen--the Kingdom Come for
the oppressed of the earth--and, himself the unconscious Shepherd of that
Spirit, he was going to help carry its ideals across a continent Westward to
another sea and on--who knows--to the gates of the rising sun. An eagle swept
over his head, as he rose, and the soft patter of feet sounded behind him. It
was Jack trotting after him. He stooped and took the old dog in his arms.

"Go back home, Jack!" he said.

Without a whimper, old Jack slowly wheeled, but he stopped and turned again
and sat on his haunches--looking back.

"Go home, Jack!" Again the old dog trotted down the path and once more he
turned.

"Home, Jack!" said Chad.

The eagle was a dim, black speck in the band of yellow that lay over the rim
of the sinking sun, and after its flight, horse and rider took the westward
way.