Margaret Dixon McDougall - "The Letters of Norah on her Tour Through Ireland"

Lillian Elizabeth Roy - "Polly of Pebbly Pit"

F. Hopkinson Smith - "Kennedy Square"

Rudyard Kipling - "The Phantom 'Rickshaw and Other Ghost Stories"

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: Herb of Grace

R >> Rosa Nouchette Carey >> Herb of Grace




"To be sure he has," replied Cedric. "Carlyon senior is a dry,
chippy sort of little man, as meek as a mouse and as good as gold.
He is curate-in-charge of an iron church at Stokeley; it is in the
Black Country, you know--a regular inferno of a place--nothing but
tall chimneys and blasting furnaces, heaps of slag and rows of
miners' cottages. Stokeley town is a mile or two farther on; it is a
beastly sort of hole."

"It does not sound an inviting spot certainly."

"Well, it is not exactly a Garden of Eden," returned Cedric with a
grin. "But, as David says, it has its advantages, for one can wear
out one's old clothes quite comfortably. I believe there is really
beautiful country two or three miles away."

"I suppose Mr. Carlyon's mother is living too?" But here Cedric
shook his head.

"No, she died when David was a youngster--consumption, I believe--
and two or three of the children died too. But there is one
daughter, Theo they call her--for Theodora, I expect--and a precious
uncomfortable piece of goods she is."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, but Cedric
needed no encouragement to rattle on.

"She is a young woman with a mission--a sort of female Moody and
Sankey rolled in one--and she calls herself the Miner's Friend. She
is so full of good works, don't you know, that she has not time for
domestic duties; and so Carlyon pere and Carlyon frere have a
roughish time of it."

Malcolm's thoughts instinctively reverted to his mother. With all
her work and philanthropic schemes, she was never too busy to see to
her household. She might neglect her own personal comfort and
overtask her willing helper Anna, but her servants did their duty,
and were well fed and well managed; and they worked all the better
for the knowledge that their mistress's keen eyes would detect the
slightest laxity. "My mother is a good woman," he said to himself;
"she is true and just in all her dealings," and he felt with a
sudden pang of remorse as though he had never valued her enough.

"Is Miss Carlyon like her brother in appearance?" he asked the next
minute.

"Not a bit; she would make two of David. She is a big, red-haired
woman, not exactly bad-looking--if she would only set herself off.
But the Carlyons have a family failing, they cling to their old
clothes and eschew fashion. Hush, here comes Mother Pratt with the
tea-tray. Look at her well, Herrick. she is a good imitation of the
immortal Mrs. Gummidge, and bears a mortified exterior, out of
compliment to the late Samuel Pratt, sexton and grave-digger and
parochial Jack-of-all-trades."

The bumping sounds in the distance that Cedric had heard had drawn
nearer, and the next moment a tall, angular woman in a black hat,
and a suspicion of soap-suds freshly dried about her bare arms,
entered the room and set down the tea-tray with a heavy sigh, as
though the burden of life were too hard to bear.

Mr. Carlyon followed her with a crusty loaf and the butter, while
Elizabeth brought up the rear triumphantly with a plate of
raspberries and a little brown jug of cream.

"Is there anything more you'll be needing, sir?" asked Mrs. Pratt
lugubriously--she spoke in an injured manner. "If it had not been
washing-day I would have baked you a currant-loaf, or some scones;
but having only two hands, and no chick or child to help me, and--"

"Oh, we shall do very nicely," returned Elizabeth cheerfully.
"Please do not let us hinder you, Mrs. Pratt; if you will keep the
water boiling we can easily replenish the teapot. Mr. Carlyon,"
looking at him severely, "you have left the sifted sugar on the
kitchen table; please go and fetch it. Mr. Herrick, are you fond of
raspberries? These are from our own garden--Johnson gathered them
this morning."

"They are just prime!" exclaimed Cedric--"food for the Olympian
gods, ambrosia and nectar too. Come along, David, or there will be
none left for you. Sit down, man, no one wants you to be waiting on
us." "Yes, do sit down, please," observed Elizabeth softly; and Mr.
Carlyon slipped at once into the empty chair beside her.

It really was a pleasant little tea-party, and Malcolm quite forgot
his longing to be back in the drawing-room at the Wood House.
Indeed, he was in high good-humour, and told his best stories, quite
convulsing Mr. Carlyon with his comic ones; indeed, he made himself
so agreeable and entertaining--he so threw himself into the spirit
of their informal picnic--that Elizabeth's bright eyes rested on his
dark face more than once with marked approval. And when they went
out into the front garden to wait for the dog-cart, Mr. Carlyon said
to her confidentially, "Your friend improves on acquaintance; I
thought him a bit stand-offish and highty-tighty yesterday, but I
see now it was only mannerism."

"Some people are difficult to know at first," returned Elizabeth
thoughtfully, but she also spoke in a lowered tone. "Mr. Herrick is
not one of those people who keep all their goods in their shop
window; there is plenty more of good stuff inside, if you only take
the trouble to search for it. Dinah likes him immensely; she is
getting an empty pedestal ready for him--you know my dear old
Dinah's way, bless her." And as David knew it well, his answer was a
merry laugh.

Never had Malcolm enjoyed himself more; never had he felt less
disposed to criticise and find fault; and yet Miss Elizabeth
Templeton wore the very striped blouse that had excited his ire on
the previous evening; and her hat was certainly bent in the brim,
perhaps in her frantic efforts to put up a straggling lock of brown
hair that had escaped from the coil, and which would perpetually get
loose again. Malcolm noticed at once the ripe, rich tint of the
brown. "It is the real thing," he said to himself, "it is the
burnished brown of the horse-chestnut; one seldom sees it, it is
quite out of the common." And then he told himself that he had never
seen a face so capable of expression. Perhaps this was why he
watched her so closely when she talked to Mr. Carlyon.

It was arranged that Elizabeth should drive back with them in the
dog-cart. And as Malcolm took the reins, which Cedric had
relinquished in his favour, she mounted to the place beside him,
while Cedric clambered up behind. Mr. Carlyon looked after them
regretfully as Elizabeth waved gaily to him. The next moment she was
pointing out the vicarage to Malcolm, a gray, picturesque-looking
house, standing in a pleasant garden.

"It is not really the vicarage," she explained, "although it goes by
the name. It used to belong to old Colonel Trelawney; but when he
died and Mrs. Trelawney left Rotherwood, Mr. Charrington took it. It
is not large, but quite the right size for an old bachelor. He has
really a grand library, and a very good dining-room, though the
drawing-room is rather a dull room. Ah, there is the vicar," and
Elizabeth smiled and bowed to a tall, gray-haired man who was just
letting himself in at the gate.

"Wait a moment, please, Mr. Herrick," she exclaimed hurriedly. "I
quite forgot I had a message from Dinah;" and then, as she sprang
lightly to the ground, Mr. Charrington turned back to meet her, and
they stood talking for a few minutes.

"Hurry up, Bet, or we shall be late for dinner," called out Cedric,
impatient at this delay. Then Elizabeth looked up and nodded.

"Just one moment more," she said breathlessly. "Dinah will not mind
our being late."

Malcolm did not mind it either. He sat contentedly flicking the
flies from Brown Becky's glossy sides and listening to the distant
cawing of rooks.

What a peaceful, drowsy sort of place Rotherwood was! The wide
village street seemed empty, with the exception of a black collie
lying asleep in the middle of the road, and a patient donkey
belonging to a travelling tinker. The clean, sleek country sparrows
were enjoying a dust bath, and a long-legged chicken--evidently a
straggler from the brood--was pecking fitfully at a cabbage stalk,
unmindful of the alarmed clucking of the maternal hen.

When Elizabeth rejoined them the vicar was with her, and she
introduced him to Malcolm.

Mr. Charrington had been a handsome man in his youth; but a
sedentary life and a somewhat injudicious burning of the midnight
oil had tried his constitution. He had grown pale and thin, and his
shoulders were slightly round, so that he looked older than his
years. Malcolm thought Cedric's name of Dr. Dryasdust was not an
inapt title. His eyes were a little sunken, though very bright and
keen, and his manner was extremely courteous. He spoke very civilly
to Malcolm.

"Mr. Charrington is hardly my idea of a country vicar," he observed
as they drove away.

"Perhaps not," returned Elizabeth quickly, "but he is a very
conscientious clergyman, and his people's welfare is very near his
heart. He is a great etymologist and archaeologist, and at times he
is so immersed in his studies that but for the care of his excellent
housekeeper, Mrs. Finch, he would often forget to eat his dinner.
Mr. Carlyon often tells us amusing stories of the vicar's absence of
mind."

"Could you not remember one of them, Betty?" suggested Cedric. But
Elizabeth was not to be cajoled into repeating them. She respected
Mr. Charrington far too highly, she remarked, to make merry at his
expense.

"My friends' oddities are always sacred to me," she said quite
seriously. "Most people have their own little failings and
idiosyncrasies, but one need not make copy out of them. Don't you
agree with me, Mr. Herrick, that there is too little sense of honour
in these matters? To raise a laugh, or to sharpen their own wit,
many people will expose their best friend to ridicule."

"Oh, shut up, Betty," remonstrated her brother, "it is too bad to
moralise; and after all old Dr. Dryasdust is a capital subject for
sport."

"Perhaps so, but all the same your sister is right," returned
Malcolm. "We are a little thoughtless, as she says. We ought to
refuse to give our tongue such licence when a friend's crochets and
whimsies are in question. It is the easiest thing in the world to
satirise and caricature. You could poke fun at Milton or Shakespeare
if you liked, and make them utterly ridiculous. Don't you hate
parodies, Miss Templeton? To me they are utterly profane and
detestable, and the cleverer they are the more I abhor them."

"We think alike there," returned Elizabeth eagerly. "I remember that
Cedric read such capital parodies once on 'Excelsior' and 'Locksley
Hall,' and I have never been able to enjoy those poems since. I have
utterly refused to listen to any more. Oh," interrupting herself,
"there is Dinah on the look-out for us."

They caught sight of the trim little figure in gray silk waiting for
them in the porch. But if they had been an hour late Dinah would
have greeted them with the same kind smile, and hoped that they were
not tired.

That evening they sat out on the terrace again; but to Malcolm's
chagrin and disappointment, Elizabeth declared that her long day at
Rotherwood had deprived her of all voice for singing. "I have been
shouting to the children all the morning," she observed, "and
reading to deaf old women all the afternoon, and my vocal chord has
suffered," and then she challenged Cedric to take a stroll with her;
but to Malcolm's vexation the invitation was not extended to him.
"Dinah has been alone, we must not all leave her," she said so
pointedly that he had no choice in the matter. But he was secretly
chafed by this treatment, for Malcolm was one of those men who
object to be managed. "I wonder, if Carlyon had been in my place, if
my Lady Elizabeth would have ordered him to remain behind," he
thought. But Dinah's first words healed this soreness.

"My sister has kindly made this opportunity for me by taking Cedric
off our hands," she said gently. "She knew that I wanted a little
talk with you about him." Then Malcolm's brief sullenness vanished.

"You shall talk to me as much as you like," he said in the most
cordial manner, and indeed he felt very kindly towards this gentle,
simple-minded creature. "I am ready for any amount of conversation
on any subject from 'cabbages to kings.'" Then she smiled well
pleased at his little joke.

"I wanted to ask you about these new friends of Cedric's," she
began. "He seems so full of them, and neither Elizabeth nor I know
anything about them. My sister, who is certainly not at all a
narrow-minded person, has taken a most singular prejudice against
them."

"Do you mean the Jacobis? My dear Miss Templeton, I am sorry to say
that I have never met them." Then Dinah's face fell. "It is not
surprising, of course, that many of Cedric's friends are unknown to
me, for we move in very different circles. He has been raving about
the Jacobis all the afternoon; but all the same I don't seem to
focus them properly."

"Cedric is going to stay with them next month," observed Dinah.
"They have taken a house at Henley for some weeks. He is very much
excited about it; he is so fond of boating. And he declares they
will have such a pleasant house-party; but," rather anxiously, "I do
wish we could find some one who knew them."

"I should not be surprised if Mrs. Godfrey had come across them. She
knows everybody." Dinah looked at him in surprise.

"Do you mean Mrs. Godfrey of the Manor House, near Cookham?" she
asked--"Colonel Godfrey's wife?" Malcolm nodded assent.

"Do you know her too? What a small world this is after all! Mrs.
Godfrey is a great friend of mine. We hit it off capitally on most
subjects. In my opinion she is the cleverest and pleasantest woman
in London." Then Dinah fairly beamed.

"I am so glad you like her. She is a great favourite of ours.
Elizabeth often stays at the Manor House. They get on splendidly
together. And the Colonel is so charming. Oh, Mr. Herrick, I am
relieved that you mentioned them. Henley is not far from Cookham,
and I should think they must know something of the Jacobis."

"I will ask Mrs. Godfrey directly I see her," he returned. "I am
going to the Manor House next week."

"Next week!" in surprise; "I hoped you would have stayed with us for
ten days at least."

"You are very kind," in a tone of regret, "but, my dear lady, I fear
it is utterly impossible. My engagement with the Godfreys is of long
standing, but I shall only remain at the Manor House three or four
days. My regular holiday comes later."

"I suppose you have already made your plans?" in a friendly tone.

"Yes, I have decided not to go abroad this year. I have some
literary work I do not wish to lay aside, and I think of taking up
my quarters at the Crow's Nest, where I can combine country air and
work."

"Then you will be our neighbour," and Dinah's voice expressed such
satisfaction at the prospect that Malcolm felt quite pleased. "What
a pity Cedric will be away most of August--the dear boy has so many
engagements." But Malcolm, who was extremely truthful, did not
endorse this regret. Cedric was a nice enough fellow, he thought,
but he did not always know when he was not wanted, and at times his
lively chatter was a weariness to the flesh.

"I expect I shall see something of him," was all he could bring
himself to say. "But you may depend on me for getting information
about the Jacobis. I am a little curious myself on the subject," he
added with the frankness that was natural to him; and then, as the
sound of approaching footsteps reached them, they mutually dropped
the subject.




CHAPTER XIII

THE CROW'S NEST


Take the little pleasures of life, watch the sunsets
and the clouds, the shadows in the streets and the
misty light over our great cities. These bring joy by
the way, and thankfulness to our Heavenly Father.
--ANNE T. CLOUGH.

In a certain sense all are historians.
--CARLYLE.


Perhaps Elizabeth's conscience pricked her that night, or more
probably, being rather a casual and careless young woman, a gentle
hint from Dinah may have had its effect.

Dinah had merely remarked in her quiet way, when she was bidding her
sister good-night in the Red Gallery, that she feared they were not
doing enough for their guest's amusement, and that she thought they
had better ask the vicar to dinner.

"Mr. Herrick is a literary man, and they will get on very well
together," she observed. "Don't you think so, Betty?" And as
Elizabeth did think so, and had no objection to offer, Dinah said
that Johnson should take a note round the following morning.

Elizabeth felt a twinge of compunction as she closed her bedroom
door; she was by no means given to introspection, but "conscience,
that makes cowards of us all," told her that she had not been quite
gracious to Mr. Herrick that evening.

"It was too bad of me not to sing to him," she said to herself, as
she recalled his disappointed look. "I was not so very tired after
all; it was just a fit of laziness, and--" but here Elizabeth
checked herself abruptly--self-examination is sometimes
embarrassing.

"I will try and make up for it to-morrow," she thought; "he is such
a good fellow, and we owe him so much;" and she was still in this
complaisant mood when she came down to breakfast.

Even her outward garb was improved: she wore a fresh and extremely
becoming morning dress, which set off her fine figure to advantage;
and before Malcolm had tasted his coffee or looked at his letters
she was challenging him gaily to a game of tennis.

Malcolm was charmed--he had no idea that she played tennis; but her
next proposition rather took off the edge of his enjoyment.

"I know you are a good player, Mr. Herrick," she remarked coolly,
"but it would be too great an exertion this warm weather for you to
beat Cedric and me. Would it not be a good plan," turning to her
brother, "for you to go over to the White Cottage on your bicycle
and ask Mr. Carlyon to make the fourth? We should have a much better
game."

"But we decided to ask Mr. Charrington to dinner, Betty,"
remonstrated her sister. Then Cedric looked disgusted, and muttered
something under his breath about old Dr. Dryasdust spoiling the fun,
but Elizabeth put him down with a strong hand.

"People's notions of fun differ," she said severely. "I am quite
sure that the vicar and Mr. Herrick will have many interests in
common. As for Mr. Carlyon," with a sudden change of tone, "he and
Mr. Charrington are such good friends that they dine together two or
three times a week, so there is no objection on that score. Well,
Cedric," with an amused look at his bored expression, "do you feel
equal to the exertion of bicycling over to Rotherwood, or shall
Johnson go?"

"I suppose I can do the job," returned Cedric in a grumbling tone.
"You may as well give me the vicarage note too, Die." But Dinah,
distressed by her darling's ill-humour, followed him out into the
hall to explain matters more fully.

"You must not be cross about it, dear," she said, with tender
anxiety in her tone. "You see we are bound to entertain a visitor
like Mr. Herrick; he is not just an insignificant person." Cedric's
brow cleared. "He is a clever man, and it will be a compliment to
ask a distinguished scholar like Mr. Charrington to meet him. If the
Logans had been here we should have invited them."

Cedric felt a little ashamed of himself. "I daresay you are right,"
he said grudgingly, "but it will be so precious slow. Well, I'm off.
Look after Herrick while I am gone," with a fine assumption of manly
dignity. But he need not have troubled himself; Malcolm was not
disposed to miss him in the least.

As for Elizabeth, her flow of benevolence was not dry yet. "I heard
you tell Dinah last night that you wanted to look over the Crow's
Nest," she observed to Malcolm as they rose from the breakfast
table, "if you have no letters to write we might stroll down there
now."

"Oh, my letters will keep," he returned, with such evident pleasure
at the proposition that Elizabeth went off in search of her hat; not
the hat with the battered brim, mark you, but a charming hat with
cream-coloured lace and delicious yellow poppies, that seemed to
match the dewy freshness of the morning, and which would not
disgrace the gentleman from London; and although she wore no gloves-
-Elizabeth always drew the line at gloves--her Indian silk sunshade
was worthy of Bond Street. As the Crow's Nest was within sight of
the gates of the Wood House, they very soon accomplished the
distance.

It was a homely little place enough, and the Kestons had described
it pretty accurately. It was a mere cottage, and not a picturesque
one either, for the architecture left much to be desired; but the
row of trees that divided it from the road, amongst which shone the
red berries of the rowans, and the trim, shady lawn, gave it a
secluded and pleasant aspect.

The sitting-room was small but cosy, and there was a fair-sized
dining-room; but Malcolm at once took a fancy to a small upper room
with a window overlooking the road; it had evidently been used as a
dressing-room, for there was a gentleman's wardrobe in it, and a
writing-table and easy-chair.

"I must coax Verity into giving me this room," he said half to
himself; but Elizabeth heard him.

"Verity! is that Mrs. Keston?" she asked. "What a very original
name! I do not believe I ever heard it before."

"I daresay not, but it just suits her. Yea--Verily, as her husband
calls her." Then Elizabeth looked extremely amused.

"What a droll idea! Your friends seem rather out of the common, Mr.
Herrick. I am quite impatient to make their acquaintance. We have a
large circle of friends--an inner and an outer circle--but I am
always glad to add to the number."

"I think you will like Verity," he returned seriously; "she is such
a genuine little soul, and so fresh and original. Oh, I am quite
sure you will take to her." Malcolm spoke in such a decided manner,
as though it were a foregone conclusion that Verity would be
admitted to the privileged inner circle, that Elizabeth's curiosity
was strongly excited.

"You seem rather certain of the fact," she said perversely; "but, as
my sister would tell you, I am not so easily pleased after all."

"Nevertheless you will like Verity," he returned quickly. "Like
attracts like--a transparent, truthful nature, which is absolutely
without guile, will not fail to appeal to you; I already know you
well enough to predict that with certainty."

Elizabeth turned this speech off with a laugh, but her colour rose
at the implied compliment; if like attracts like, as Mr. Herrick
said, he must think her original and guileless too. Something in
Malcolm's tone--in the expression of his dark eyes--confirmed this
impression, and in spite of her stateliness and thirty years the
second Miss Templeton felt a little shy.

"We have not seen the garden-room yet," she said hastily, and then
she led the way downstairs.

The garden lay on the side of the house, and was well kept and full
of flowers; but the temporary building erected by Mr. Logan rather
spoiled the view from the back of the house, though a gay flower-
border surrounded it.

Elizabeth, who had procured the key from the servant, now opened the
door.

It was rather a bare-looking place, as Verity had said; more of a
workshop than a studio, though it was used for both purposes, and,
as both of them knew, good work had been done there; but Mr. Logan,
who had a fine studio in town, was content with rather a primitive
state of things in his country cottage.

It was sufficiently large, though part of it was partitioned off as
a bedroom; the partition, for the sake of airiness, was only eight
or nine feet high, and the furniture was of the plainest
description; a white Indian matting covered the floor, and there
were pink Madras curtains at the window. As Elizabeth pointed out,
it could not have been closed for months, for actually beautiful
clusters of roses had not only festooned the casement, but had found
their way into the room, and hung their sweet heads over the sill,
as though they were trying to reach the floor.

Malcolm declared himself quite enchanted; he had never seen any
place he liked better. There was room for his big bath--his tub he
called it mentally--and a comfortable chair or two, and when he had
concluded these little arrangements to his own satisfaction, he
joined Elizabeth, who was making friends with a great sandy cat, who
rejoiced in the doubtful name of Old Tom.

"I am glad you are so pleased," she said in quite an interested
tone, as they walked down the road again. "I hardly expected that
you would be so easily satisfied. Cedric calls the Crow's Nest a
wretched little hole."

"Oh, he is so young, Miss Templeton--he is at the age when one has
great expectations; we learn to moderate and alter our ideas as we
grow older. Don't you remember Carmen Sylva's charming description
of youth and age? I like it so much."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I am afraid I do not read enough," she
said rather sadly. But he looked at her very kindly.

"She is one of the wisest and wittiest of women," he returned; "and
she is your namesake too."