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Nathaniel Hawthorne - "The Blithedale Romance"

Henry Lawson - "Over the Sliprails"

John N. Reynolds - "The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Twin Hells"

George MacDonald - "The Princess and the Goblin"

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).

The Pool in the Desert

S >> Sara Jeanette Duncan >> The Pool in the Desert




I stood before her abashed, and that was ridiculous, while she
measured me as if I presented in myself the woman I took her to be.
'It wasn't like that,' she said. I had to defend myself. 'Judy,' I
said, 'if you weren't in honour bound to Anna, how could I know that
you would be in honour bound to the regiment? There was a train at
three.'

'I beg to assure you that you have overcalculated,' said Mrs.
Harbottle. Her eyes were hard and proud. 'And I am not sure'--a
deep red swept over her face, a man's blush--'in the light of this I
am not sure that I am not in honour bound to Anna.'

We had reached the veranda, and at her signal her coachman drove
quickly up. 'You have kept me here three hours when there was the
whole of Bob's kit to see to,' she said, as she flung herself in;
'you might have thought of that.'

It was a more than usually tedious campaign, and Colonel Robert
Harbottle was ambushed and shot in a place where one must believe
pure boredom induced him to take his men. The incident was
relieved, the newspapers said--and they are seldom so clever in
finding relief for such incidents--by the dash and courage shown by
Lieutenant Chichele, who, in one of those feats which it has lately
been the fashion to criticize, carried the mortally wounded body of
his Colonel out of range at conspicuous risk of depriving the Queen
of another officer. I helped Judy with her silent packing; she had
forgiven me long before that; and she settled almost at once into
the flat in Chelsea which has since been credited with so delightful
an atmosphere, went back straight into her own world. I have always
kept her first letters about it, always shall. For months after,
while the expedition still raged after snipers and rifle-thieves, I
discussed with Lady Chichele the probable outcome of it all. I have
sometimes felt ashamed of leaping as straight as I did with Anna to
what we thought the inevitable. I based no calculation on all Mrs.
Harbottle had gone back to, just as I had based no calculation on
her ten years' companionship in arms when I kept her from the three
o'clock train. This last was a retrospection in which Anna
naturally could not join me; she never knew, poor dear, how
fortunate as to its moment was the campaign she deplored, and
nothing to this day can have disturbed her conviction that the bond
she was at such magnificent pains to strengthen, held against the
strain, as long, happily, as the supreme need existed. 'How right
you were!' she often said. 'She did, after all, love me best, dear,
wonderful Judy!' Her distress about poor Robert Harbottle was
genuine enough, but one could not be surprised at a certain
ambiguity; one tear for Robert, so to speak, and two for her boy.
It could hardly be, for him, a marriage after his mother's heart.
And she laid down with some emphasis that Somers was brilliantly
entitled to all he was likely to get--which was natural, too. . .

I had been from the beginning so much 'in it' that Anna showed me, a
year later, though I don't believe she liked doing it, the letter in
part of which Mrs. Harbottle shall finally excuse herself.

'Somers will give you this,' I read, 'and with it take back your
son. You will not find, I know, anything grotesque in the charming
enthusiasm with which he has offered his life to me; you understand
too well, you are too kind. And if you wonder that I can so render
up a dear thing which I might keep and would once have taken, think
how sweet in the desert is the pool, and how barren was the prospect
from Balclutha.'

It was like her to abandon in pride a happiness that asked so much
less humiliation; I don't know why, but it was like her. And of
course, when one thought of it, she had consulted all sorts of high
expediencies. But I sat silent with remembrance, quieting a pang in
my heart, trying not to calculate how much it had cost Judy
Harbottle to take her second chance.

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