Chapter I: HAD called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the (5)

A sough of the sea came inland. Mànus inhaled its breath with a sigh
of delight. A passion for the running wave was upon him. He yearned
to feel green water break against his breast. Thirst and hunger,
too, he felt at last, though he had known neither all day. How cool
and sweet, he thought, would be a silver haddock, or even a
brown-backed liath, alive and gleaming, wet with the sea-water still
bubbling in its gills. It would writhe, just like the rat; but then
how he would throw his head back, and toss the glittering thing up
into the moonlight, catch it on the downwhirl just as it neared the
wave on whose crest he was, and then devour it with swift voracious
gulps!

With quick, jerky steps he made his way past the landward side of
the small, thatch-roofed cottage. He was about to enter, when he
noticed that the door, which he had left ajar, was closed. He stole
to the window and glanced in.

A single, thin, wavering moonbeam flickered in the room. But the
flame at the heart of the peats had worked its way through the ash,
and there was now a dull glow, though that was within the
“smooring,” and threw scarce more than a glimmer into the room.

There was enough light, however, for Mànus MacCodrum to see that a
man sat on the three-legged stool before the fire. His head was
bent, as though he were listening. The face was away from the
window. It was his own wraith, of course; of that, Mànus felt
convinced. What was it doing there? Perhaps it had eaten the Holy
Book, so that it was beyond his putting a _rosad_ on it! At the
thought he laughed loud. The shadow-man leaped to his feet.

The next moment MacCodrum swung himself on to the thatched roof, and
clambered from rope to rope, where these held down the big stones
which acted as dead-weight for the thatch, against the fury of
tempests. Stone after stone he tore from its fastenings and hurled
to the ground over beyond the door. Then with tearing hands he began
to burrow an opening in the thatch. All the time he whined like a
beast.

He was glad the moon shone full upon him. When he had made a big
enough hole, he would see the evil thing out of the grave that sat
in his room, and would stone it to death.

Suddenly he became still. A cold sweat broke out upon him. The
thing, whether his own wraith, or the spirit of his dead foe, or
Gloom Achanna himself, had begun to play, low and slow, a wild air.
No piercing, cold music like that of the feadan! Too well he knew
it, and those cool, white notes that moved here and there in the
darkness like snowflakes. As for the air, though he slept till
Judgment Day and heard but a note of it amidst all the clamor of
heaven and hell, sure he would scream because of the “Dàn-nan-Ròn.”

The “Dàn-nan-Ròn!” The _Roin_! the Seals! Ah, what was he doing
there, on the bitter-weary land! Out there was the sea. Safe would
he be in the green waves.

With a leap he was on the ground. Seizing a huge stone, he hurled it
through the window. Then, laughing and screaming, he fled towards
the Great Reef, along whose sides the ebb-tide gurgled and sobbed,
with glistening white foam.

He ceased screaming or laughing as he heard the “Dàn-nan-Ròn” behind
him, faint, but following; sure, following. Bending low, he raced
towards the rock-ledges from which ran the reef.

When at last he reached the extreme ledge he stopped abruptly. Out
on the reef he saw from ten to twenty seals, some swimming to and
fro, others clinging to the reef, one or two making a curious
barking sound, with round heads lifted against the moon. In one
place there was a surge and lashing of water. Two bulls were
fighting to the death.

With swift, stealthy movements Mànus unclothed himself. The damp had
clotted the leathern thongs of his boots, and he snarled with curled
lip as he tore at them. He shone white in the moonshine, but was
sheltered from the sea by the ledge behind which he crouched. “What
did Gloom Achanna mean by that?” he muttered savagely, as he heard
the nearing air change into the “Dance of the Dead.” For a moment
Mànus was a man again. He was nigh upon turning to face his foe,
corpse or wraith or living body; to spring at this thing which
followed him, and tear it with hands and teeth. Then, once more, the
hated “Song of the Seals” stole mockingly through the night.

With a shiver he slipped into the dark water. Then with quick,
powerful strokes he was in the moon-flood, and swimming hard against
it out by the leeside of the reef.

So intent were the seals upon the fight of the two great bulls that
they did not see the swimmer, or if they did, took him for one of
their own people. A savage snarling and barking and half-human
crying came from them. Mànus was almost within reach of the nearest,
when one of the combatants sank dead, with torn throat. The victor
clambered on the reef, and leaned high, swaying its great head and
shoulders to and fro. In the moonlight its white fangs were like red
coral. Its blinded eyes ran with gore.

There was a rush, a rapid leaping and swirling, as Mànus surged in
among the seals, which were swimming round the place where the slain
bull had sunk.

The laughter of this long, white seal terrified them.

When his knees struck against a rock, MacCodrum groped with his
arms, and hauled himself out of the water.

From rock to rock and ledge to ledge he went, with a fantastic,
dancing motion, his body gleaming foam-white in the moonshine.

As he pranced and trampled along the weedy ledges, he sang snatches
of an old rune—the lost rune of the MacCodrums of Uist. The seals on
the rocks crouched spell-bound; those slow-swimming in the water
stared with brown unwinking eyes, with their small ears strained
against the sound:

It is I, Mànus MacCodrum,
I am telling you that, you, Anndra of my blood,
And you, Neil my grandfather, and you, and you, and you!
Ay, ay, Mànus my name is, Mànus MacMànus!
It is I myself, and no other.
Your brother, O Seals of the Sea!
Give me blood of the red fish,
And a bite of the flying _sgadan_:
The green wave on my belly,
And the foam in my eyes!
I am your bull-brother, O Bulls of the Sea,
Bull—better than any of you, snarling bulls!
Come to me, mate, seal of the soft, furry womb,
White am I still, though red shall I be,
Red with the streaming red blood if any dispute me!
Aoh, aoh, aoh, arò, arò, ho-rò!
A man was I, a seal am I,
My fangs churn the yellow foam from my lips:
Give way to me, give way to me, Seals of the Sea;
Give way, for I am fëy of the sea
And the sea-maiden I see there,
And my name, true, is Mànus MacCodrum,
The bull-seal that was a man, Arà! Arà!

By this time he was close upon the great black seal, which was still
monotonously swaying its gory head, with its sightless eyes rolling
this way and that. The sea-folk seemed fascinated. None moved, even
when the dancer in the moonshine trampled upon them.

When he came within arm-reach he stopped.

“Are you the Ceann-Cinnidh?” he cried.

“Are you the head of this clan of the sea-folk?”

The huge beast ceased its swaying. Its curled lips moved from its
fangs.

“Speak, Seal, if there’s no curse upon you! Maybe, now, you’ll be
Anndra himself, the brother of my father! Speak! _H’st—are you
hearing that music on the shore?_ ’Tis the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’! Death o’
my soul, it’s the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’!

“Aha, ’tis Gloom Achanna out of the Grave. Back, beast, and let me
move on!”

With that, seeing the great bull did not move, he struck it full in
the face with clenched fist. There was a hoarse, strangling roar,
and the seal champion was upon him with lacerating fangs.

Mànus swayed this way and that. All he could hear now was the
snarling and growling and choking cries of the maddened seals. As he
fell, they closed in upon him. His screams wheeled through the night
like mad birds. With desperate fury he struggled to free himself.
The great bull pinned him to the rock; a dozen others tore at his
white flesh, till his spouting blood made the rocks scarlet in the
white shine of the moon.

For a few seconds he still fought savagely, tearing with teeth and
hands. Once, a red irrecognisable mass, he staggered to his knees. A
wild cry burst from his lips, when from the shore-end of the reef
came loud and clear the lilt of the rune of his fate.

The next moment he was dragged down and swept from the reef into the
sea. As the torn and mangled body disappeared from sight, it was
amid a seething crowd of leaping and struggling seals, their eyes
wild with affright and fury, their fangs red with human gore.

And Gloom Achanna, turning upon the reef, moved swiftly inland,
playing low on his feadan, as he went.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

CRITICAL COMMENT

THE ADVENTURES OF SIMON AND SUSANNA
By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

NO one knows when story telling began. It is as old as the human
race. It goes beyond history into the unknown darkness of the past.
Some of the stories we still read originated far back in primitive
life. Such stories, that have been told for many years, and are
common to the race, we call “Folk-Lore” stories.

Every Folk-Lore story probably began in the simplest form. Something
happened,—and someone tried to tell about the event. If the story
was interesting enough to repeat, it gradually became exaggerated.
Thus the germ of _The Adventures of Simon and Susanna_ is the
common-enough story of a successful elopement in which the
cleverness of the young people,—of the girl in particular,—eluded
the pursuing father. Their means of making their escape must have
been quite ordinary, but when the story was told again and again,—if
this really is a Folk-Lore story, the cleverness was exaggerated and
gradually turned into magic.

In reading this story we come into close touch with the origin of
all story telling. We see one man, a common, ignorant man, telling a
story to an interested listener, and undoubtedly “putting in a few
extra touches” to make the story more wonderful. The primitive
stories must always have been presented orally, and at first to few
listeners. Then came the days of story tellers for the crowd, and
finally the written story.

The author of _The Adventures of Simon and Susanna_, Joel Chandler
Harris, retold many folk-lore stories. He was born in Georgia in
1848, and died there in 1908. He devoted all his mature life to
journalism and literature. His many books about Uncle Remus
presented that person so clearly that the good-natured negro story
teller has almost ceased to be merely a book-character, and has
become a living reality.

Every story that Mr. Harris wrote has plot interest, but it also has
pith and wisdom.

THE CROW-CHILD
By MARY MAPES DODGE

The ordinary “Fairy Story” is a developed form of the “Folk-Lore”
story. Instead of having the roughness, and naïve simplicity
characteristic of primitive ways of story telling it has polish, and
definite literary or moral purpose. It is not a mere wonder story
told in the first person by some definite individual, and made by
the exaggeration of an actual event. It is a written rather than a
spoken story, based, in the remote past, on some actual event, but
now told in the third person, and directed strongly to an artistic,
literary purpose,—frequently to a moral purpose. In every way the
best type of “Fairy Story” is a distinct advance towards developed
story telling.

_The Crow Child_ is not an actual “Fairy Story,” but it illustrates
remarkably well the way in which “Fairy Stories” developed. Every
event in _The Crow Child_ is strictly true, but much of the story
appears to be based on magic. A true story of this sort, told in
primitive times, and retold again and again, with new emphasis
placed on the elements of wonder, would have developed into a pure
story of wonder,—a “Fairy Story.”

The author of this original, and modern, “Fairy Story,” Mary Mapes
Dodge, was born in New York in 1838. For many years she was the
efficient editor of _St. Nicholas_, a young people’s magazine of the
highest type. In addition to her editorial work she wrote many books
for young people, the most famous being _Hans Brinker, or the Silver
Skates_. She died in 1905.

THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL
By LAFCADIO HEARN

Very often the earliest stories are not crude accounts of ordinary
events, exaggerated enough to be worthy of note. They are poetic
narratives founded on matters of deep significance in the life of a
people. All primitive people are poetic, because they see the world
through the eyes of emotion rather than of scientific understanding.
They also have an instinctive recognition of fundamental nobility.
Therefore we have such stories as the legends of Hiawatha, in which
an ideal man is presented, bringing benefit to his kind. Any story
that is handed down from generation to generation, and that presents
as facts matters that have no other verification, is legendary. The
highest type of legendary story is one that presents high ideals.

The Chinese, whose literature is exceedingly ancient, have always
been an idealistic people. It is not surprising that they should
create such an appealing legendary tale as _The Soul of the Great
Bell_. Although the elements are quite simple the story has been
turned from being a simple account of tragic self-sacrifice, and has
become an explanation of the music of the bell, as well as an
example of filial devotion. The preservation of such stories shows
natural appreciation of short story values.

The present rendering of _The Soul of the Great Bell_ undoubtedly
far surpasses the Chinese version. The story has been appropriately
introduced, amplified and given added poetic and dramatic effect by
careful choice of words, descriptive passages, suspense,
onomatopœia, and climax.

Lafcadio Hearn was born in 1850, of Irish and Greek parentage, in
Leucadia, of the Greek Ionian Islands. At 19 he came to America and
engaged in newspaper work, living at various times in New Orleans
and in New York. From 1891 until his death in 1904 he made his home
in Japan, where he became a Buddhist and a naturalized Japanese
citizen under the name of Yakumo Koizumi. He learned to know the
oriental peoples as few others have known them. His literary work is
marked by poetic treatment, and an atmosphere of the Orient. He
wrote _Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan_, _Out of the East_, _Some
Chinese Ghosts_, and many other books on oriental subjects.

=Ta-chung sz’.= Temple of the Bell. A building in Pekin, holding the
bell that is the subject of the story. The bell was made in the
reign of Yong-lo, about 1406 A. D. It weighs over 120,000 pounds,
and is the largest bell known to be in actual use.

=Kwang-chan-fu.= The Broad City. Canton.

THE TEN TRAILS
By ERNEST THOMPSON SETON

The fable and the proverb are much alike in that both are highly
condensed, and both are told to instruct. The short, direct, applied
narratives known as “Fables” are among the oldest ancestors of the
short story. Even in the most ancient times there were fables, those
of Æsop having been told perhaps as early as the sixth century, B.C.
Many familiar fables have animals for their characters, their known
characteristics needing no comment. Thus the fox and the wolf appear
frequently, their mere names suggesting traits of character. The
fable, as a type of wisdom literature, is always short, simple, and
emphatic. It always emphasizes marked human characteristics, and
usually ends with a “moral” that adds to the emphasis. The influence
of the fable helped to make the story short, condensed, vivid,
pointed, and based on character.

_The Ten Trails_ is a modern imitation of older fables. Its
directness, simplicity, clear story, and appended moral are
characteristic of the type.

Ernest Thompson Seton, born in England in 1860, has written many
stories in which he presents animal life with appealing sympathy. He
has devoted himself particularly to cultivating a love for outdoors
life, and for animate nature. _Wild Animals I Have Known_, _The
Biography of a Grizzly_, and similar books, are full of original
interest.

WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO
By COUNT LEO TOLSTOI

An allegory is a story that has an underlying meaning or moral. It
is in some ways an expanded fable, with the meaning understood
rather than presented. The chief difference between the “Fable” and
the “Allegory” lies in length and complexity of treatment, and in
the way of presenting the underlying meaning. The “Fable” is short
and usually appends the moral. The “Allegory” is usually long, and
tells the story in such a way that the reader is sure to grasp the
meaning without further comment. The purpose, as in the “Fable,” is
double,—to tell a story, and to teach a truth. All literatures have
numerous allegories, Spenser’s _Faerie Queene_, Bunyan’s _Pilgrim’s
Progress_, and Tennyson’s _Idylls of the King_ being notable
examples in English literature.

_Where Love Is, There God Is Also_ is an allegorical story of a
pleasing type that is often found in our present-day literature. The
story has such evident good humor, appreciation of the needs of
humble life, and such an unselfish spirit of sympathy that it
appeals to any reader. Its strong realism, effective plan, and
clear, emphatic presentation make the story one of the best of its
kind.

Count Leo Tolstoi, born at Yasnaya Polyana, in Russia, in 1828, and
dying at Astapovo in 1910, is one of the greatest and most
interesting figures in all modern literature. The story of his
career, with its surprising changes from the life of a nobleman to
that of a peasant, from a life given over to pleasure to a life
devoted to the moral uplift of a whole people, is even more
astonishing than any of the stories he told in his many works of
fiction. Student, soldier, traveler, lover of social life,
philosopher, reformer, and self-sacrificing idealist, he developed a
personality unique in the extreme, and became a world-wide influence
for good. His best known novels are _War and Peace_, and _Anna
Karenina_. In them, as in all that he wrote, the notable qualities
are realism, dramatic force, original thought, and courageous
expression of beliefs.

=Grivenki.= A grivenka is 10 copecks, or about five cents.

WOOD-LADIES
By PERCEVAL GIBBON

There is a strange fascination about the supernatural, for men of
all races instinctively believe that they are surrounded by a world
of good and evil that lies just beyond their touch. Some have
thought the woods and mountains peopled with unseen divinities;
others have believed in strange gnomes and dwarfs who are thought to
live in the depths of the earth; some have believed in pale ghosts,
specters that move by night, haunting the scenes of unattoned crime.
One of the most pleasing beliefs is that in fairies, or “Little
Folk,”—unseen, beautiful, and usually beneficent beings who live in
woodland places and are endowed with all powers of magic.

Stories of the unseen world that may lie about us have appeared in
all ages. Sometimes such stories have been beautiful and fanciful,
and sometimes filled with the spirit of fear. In the latter part of
the eighteenth century and the first of the nineteenth it became
quite the fashion to tell stories of ghosts and strange terrors.
Ernst Hoffmann and Ludwig Tieck in Germany set an example that was
followed by Washington Irving, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Edgar Allan
Poe in this country, as well as by many other writers since their
time.

There is another and more healthful attitude of mind. Instead of the
horror of Gothic romance it presents the fancy of Celtic thought. In
stories of this gentler type one does not feel that the unseen world
is wholly to be feared.

Such a story is _Wood-Ladies_, in which the spirit of Celtic fancy
has found full play. In this story everything is woodsy, delicate,
half-seen, as though one were treading the very edges of fairyland
without knowing it. Mother-love fills the whole story and gives it a
noble beauty. And yet, in a certain sense, the child, conscious of
another world, is wiser than the mother. A story of this sort,
dealing with the supernatural, rests the mind like sweet music.

Perceval Gibbon was born in Carmarthenshire in South Wales, in 1870.
He has spent much time in the merchant service on British, French,
and American vessels. He has done unusual work as war correspondent.
Among his literary works are _Souls in Bondage_, _The Adventures of
Miss Gregory_, _The Second Class Passenger_, and a collection of
Poems. His work is marked by originality, and a clever mastery of
technique.

ON THE FEVER SHIP
By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS

Love is so essential a part of life that it must also be a part of
literature; therefore romantic love has been a leading literary
theme for centuries. Some of the world’s greatest stories of love
flash into our minds when we repeat the names of Juliet, Rosalind,
Portia, Elaine, and Evangeline. Such stories suggest depth of
emotion, charm, womanly worth, pure and innocent love, or a love
that lasts beyond the years. In the days of chivalry the knight bore
his lady’s token, and fought in her honor. to-day men love just as
deeply, and fight for land and hearth and sweetheart just as truly
as men did in the long ago.

_On the Fever Ship_ is the story of a modern knight,—a soldier who
went into his country’s war, bearing in his heart the memory of one
he loved. When he is wounded, and lies fever-stricken on the deck of
a transport, he does not think at all of himself but only of the one
who is far away. That is the story, an abiding love in absence, with
dreams at last made true.

The author makes the story notably strong and tender. Without formal
introduction he presents the realistic picture of the fever
ship,—the inexplicable monotony, the dream-world, the child-likeness
of the wounded man’s life. Old scenes and faces come before the
wounded soldier in tantalizing dreams. Little by little the author
draws us closer into sympathy with the central figure. He makes us
share in the man’s intensity of feeling. We feel the force of the
strong episode of the somewhat unfeeling nurse, and become indignant
in the man’s behalf. Finally, lifted by the power of the story, we
rise with it into full comprehension of the depth of the hero’s
love. Then, quickly and with artistic effect, the story comes to an
end. Simply, surely, strongly, with real sentiment instead of
sentimentality, it has made us realize the all-powerful force of
love.

The story is written with much sympathy and evident tenderness of
spirit, and is so touched with real pathos, that it comes to us as a
transcription of some real story the author had found in his work as
war correspondent.

Richard Harding Davis was one of the most romantic figures in recent
literary life. As war correspondent he saw fighting in the
Spanish-American War, the Boer War, the Japanese-Russian War, and
the Great War. He traveled in all parts of Europe, in Central and in
South America, and in the little-visited districts of the Congo in
Africa. He saw the magnificent coronation ceremonies of the King of
Spain, the King of England, and the Czar of Russia. He attended
gorgeous state occasions in various lands. He also lived the hard
field and camp life of a soldier and an explorer.

He wrote a number of extraordinarily good short stories, several
stirring novels,—among which are _The King’s Jackal_, _Ransom’s
Folly_, _The White Mice_, and _The Princess Aline_,—several plays,
and a number of works of travel and war correspondence.

Richard Harding Davis was born in Philadelphia in 1864, and died in
New York in 1916.

=San Juan.= A fortified hill position in Cuba, near Santiago de
Cuba, captured in the Spanish-American War by the United States
soldiers July 1, 1898.

=Maitre d’hotel.= Chief attendant—head-waiter.

=Embankment.= The Thames Embankment, a noted part of London.

=Chasseur.= Footman.

=Numero cinq, sur la terrace, un couvert.= Number five, on the
terrace, one place.

=Baiquiri.= A landing place in Cuba near Santiago de Cuba. The
United States soldiers landed here, June 21-23, 1898.

=Tampa.= A seaport in Florida.

A SOURCE OF IRRITATION
By STACY AUMONIER

An interesting type of story shows an ordinary person in an
extraordinary situation. In _Robinson Crusoe_, for example, an
ordinary Englishman is left alone on an uninhabited island; in
Stockton’s _The Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine_ two
good old New England women with little worldly experience are
wrecked on a mysterious island in the Pacific; in Howard Pyle’s _The
Ruby of Kishmore_ a peace-loving Philadelphia Quaker is suddenly
involved in a series of bloody encounters in the West Indies. Such
stories always arouse interest or develop humor by the astonishing
contrast between setting and characters, and they always emphasize
character by showing how it acts in unusual circumstances. Thus
_Robinson Crusoe_ at once attracts our interest and awakens
admiration for the hero.

_A Source of Irritation_ is especially clever in every way. There
could be no greater contrast than that between old Sam Gates’ usual
hum-drum, eventless life, and the sudden transfer to an aeroplane, a
foreign land, the trenches, battle, and the search for a spy. Very
rarely, too, is a character presented so emphatically as this
69-year-old gardener, with his irritable moods, his insistence on
the habits of a life-time, his stolidity, and his real manliness.
Equally rare is a story told so effectively, with just the proper
combination of realism and romance, with quick touches of comedy and
of tragedy, with a closeness to life that is indisputable, and a
romance that is unusual. In its every part the story is a
masterpiece of construction.

Stacy Aumonier is an Englishman of Huguenot descent.

=Swede.= A Swedish turnip.

=Shag.= A fine-cut tobacco.

“=Mare vudish.=” Merkwürdig, remarkable.

=A fearful noise.= The English made an attack on the German
aeroplane.

=Uglaublich.= Incredible.

=A foreign country.= Evidently Flanders.

=Boche.= German.

=G.H.Q.= General Head Quarters.

=Norfolk.= One of the eastern counties of England, bordering on the
North Sea.

MOTI GUJ—MUTINEER
By RUDYARD KIPLING

One of the pleasures of life is to travel and see the world. If we
are unable to travel far in reality we may at least see much of
strange lands through short stories of distant places and ways of
life different from the ordinary.

_Moti Guj—Mutineer_ is a story of life in India, of elephants and
mahouts and strange events. It has all the atmosphere of India,
given by half-humorous realistic touches that transport us from the
land of everyday. It is a story of animal life, told with an
intimate knowledge that shows close familiarity with “elephanthood.”
Beyond that, it has what every story must have,—close relation to
human character as we see it in any land at any time. Even the
elephant is made to act and to think as if he were a human being.
The humorous style, and the quickness with which the story is told,
as well as the vivid pictures it gives, are typical of its author’s
work.

Rudyard Kipling was born in Bombay, India, in 1865. After education
in England he became a sub-editor of a paper published in Lahore,
India, where he lived for some years, becoming intimate with all the
life of the land. He has lived at various times in India, the United
States, South Africa, and England. He has written a great number of
astonishingly clever stories, poems, and novels, all in quick,
vigorous style, with freedom from restraint, with rough realism, and
with genuine humor and pathos. Among his most notable books are:
_Plain Tales from the Hills_, _The Jungle Book_, _Captains
Courageous_, _The Day’s Work_, and _Puck of Pook’s Hill_.

=Arrack.= A fermented drink.

=Coir-swab.= A mop made from cocoanut fiber.

GULLIVER THE GREAT
By WALTER A. DYER

There is a wonderfully close sympathy between man and the animal
world,—a sympathy that is especially strong in the case of either
the horse or the dog, animals that are the close associates of man.
Ancient literature,—_The Bible_ and _The Odyssey_,—tell of the
faithfulness of the dog, man’s friend and protector. In recent times
writers have turned to the whole world of nature for subjects,—the
stag, the grizzly bear, the wolf, and other animals, but stories of
dogs still awaken interest and sympathy, and will continue to do so
as long as the faithfulness of dogs endures,—which is forever.

_Gulliver the Great_ is told in an interestingly suggestive manner,
every part of the story being rich with hints on which our
imaginations build. The pleasant calm of the setting adds much to
the effect. The man’s character is emphasized from the start, making
the story he tells have full meaning. The story is dramatic, but its
power rests far more on sympathy than on events. The art of the
story is in the clever way in which the almost human soul of the dog
is revealed, acting upon the soul of the man.

Walter A. Dyer was born in Massachusetts in 1878. Since his
graduation from Amherst College in 1900 he has been engaged in
editorial and other literary work. His natural fondness for dogs has
led to such books as _Pierrot: Dog of Belgium_, and _Gulliver the
Great_.

=Early Victorian comforts.= The comforts characteristic of the first
part of the reign of Queen Victoria of England, before city life
and commercial life were highly developed.

=Mr. Pickwick.= The humorous hero of Charles Dickens’ famous novel,
_Pickwick Papers_.

=James G. Blaine.= An American statesman, 1830-1893. He held many
high offices, and was once candidate for the Presidency.

=Simplicissimus.= A humorous and satirical German periodical.

=Brunos.= From the Latin “brunus”—brown. A name frequently given to
dogs.

=Moros.= The Malay inhabitants of certain islands of the
Philippines.

=Great Dane.= A type of dog noted for great size and graceful build.

=Vohl’s Vulcan.= A famous dog.

=Wurtemburg breed.= A well-known breed of dogs.

=Mauna Loa.= A noted Hawaiian volcano nearly 14,000 feet in height.

=Bulls of Bashan.= _The Bible_ makes frequent mention of the bulls
of Bashan, a section of Palestine east of the valley of the
Jordan.

SONNY’S SCHOOLIN’
By RUTH McENERY STUART

Laughter is a legitimate part of life, especially when it clarifies
the mind. The short story has seized upon all the elements of humor
and made them its own, especially the anecdote. Some writers have
used whimsical humor to give relief from sombre tales, or have told
stories lightly and fancifully humorous, like several in this book.
Others have written with broader effects. Every one of the many
types of humorous story is good.—the unusual situation, the
surprising climax, the fantastic character, the utter absurdity,—but
every type must follow the dictates of good taste. Humor need never
be coarse, or vulgar, or in any way aimed at personal satire. It may
criticize, but it must do so with friendly good will.

_Sonny’s Schoolin’_ is a series of connected anecdotes, told in
monologue. The humor of the anecdotes lies in their absurdity—in the
presence of Sonny every one is so helpless! Any modern teacher would
deal with Sonny in a way that he would understand. The humor of the
narration lies partly in the events, partly in the speaker’s naïve,
unconscious exposition of self, and partly in the amusing dialect.
Two qualities illuminate the story: one, the gradual presentation of
Sonny’s really lovable nature, seen to better advantage by the
father-and-mother-love behind it; the other, the gradual criticism
of the older system of education, and the suggestion of a type well
adapted to quick, active, original minds like Sonny’s.

Ruth McEnery Stuart, a native of Louisiana, contributed to our best
periodicals, and wrote many amusing, and wholly sympathetic, stories
of southern life, such as _Holly and Pizen_, _Napoleon Jackson_,
_Sonny_, and _Sonny’s Father_. She died in 1917.

HER FIRST HORSE SHOW
By DAVID GRAY

Every side of life contributes short story material,—the deeds of
people in strange surroundings, unusual acts of heroism in war or in
peace, the lives of the poor, and the lives of the rich. Since men’s
characters are independent of either wealth or poverty, the story of
society life, when written effectively, may awaken as deep feelings
of sympathy or brotherhood as the story of humble life. Any story is
worthy if it broadens the understanding of life and presents its
material in artistic form.

On the surface _Her First Horse Show_ is a story of society life, of
rich people who delight in the fashionable horse show, and in dining
at the Waldorf. Fundamentally, it is a story of human understanding,
cleverness, and daring, in which the charm of a girl, and the
thoroughbred qualities of a horse, play leading parts. Quick,
suggestive conversation makes the story vividly interesting, and
clear arrangement leads effectively to the climax.

David Gray was born in Buffalo, New York, in 1870. He has done
editorial work on various papers, and has written a large number of
interesting “horse stories” collected in such books as _Gallops I_,
_Gallops II_, and _Mr. Carteret and Others_. In 1899 Mr. Gray
entered the legal profession.

=Doubting Thomas.= A reference to the Bible story of St. Thomas, who
at first doubted the resurrection of Jesus. See John: 20: 25.

“=Hands.=” Much of the skill in riding high-spirited horses depends
upon the use of the hands in holding the reins.

MY HUSBAND’S BOOK
By JAMES MATTHEW BARRIE

Sometimes the short story is used as an effective means of satire of
a type resembling that employed by Addison in _The Spectator
Papers_. Satire can be given in so few words, and in the very speech
and actions of the persons satirized, that it is well adapted as
material for the short story. It should be the aim of all satirical
short stones of the milder sort to follow Addison’s rule, and point
out little follies rather than great wickednesses, and to aim at a
thousand people rather than at one.

_My Husband’s Book_ is an admirable example of ideal satire of the
lighter type. The husband is typical—of whom?—of every one who puts
off until tomorrow what he should do to-day. The wife is presented
whimsically as altogether adoring, but as somewhat persistently and
mischievously suspicious. At no time does the husband become aware
of his real defect of character, nor the wife lose all her loving
faith. Kindly satire like this is playful in nature, the sort to be
expected from the author of _Peter Pan_. We laugh good-naturedly at
the husband—and see ourselves in him!

Sir James Matthew Barrie was born in Kirriemuir, Scotland, in 1860.
His delightfully romantic _Auld Licht Idylls_, _A Window in Thrums_,
and especially _The Little Minister_, made him known to all the
English-speaking world. His remarkably original and fanciful plays,
_Quality Street_, _Peter Pan_, _What Every Woman Knows_, and
numerous other dramatic works have added to his already great
reputation. He is one of the leading English writers of the present
time.

WAR
By JACK LONDON

The short story often rises beyond the light and the commonplace to
act as a stern critic of world conditions. With vivid, realistic
touches it points at reality. By focussing every light upon a single
human figure who compellingly commands sympathy it arouses in us a
sense of kinship with all who suffer. Short stories of this type
have teaching force that is all powerful.

_War_ is such a story. Although little more than a vivid sketch it
presents the brutality of war in all its horror,—not by picturing
the slaughter of thousands, but by showing a boy,—shrinking, eager
to perform his full duty, loving life, fearing death, stopping to
gather apples in a boyish way,—a boy whose instinctive and noble
hesitation to kill rebounds on himself, as if in irony, and causes
his own death. In a certain sense, the boy with his kindly manhood
and generous motives represents the American spirit. The opposite
type of spirit, the love of war for war’s sake, brutality for the
sake of brutality, is shown in the boy’s enemies,—harsh foreigners
who hang men to trees, who shoot at the boy as at a target, and
laugh at his death. The story individualizes war, and thereby gives
emphasis to its horror. Such a story demands on the part of the
author a heartfelt interest in his theme, an intense love of life,
and the ability to write in realistic style.

Jack London was deeply interested in the world of men. Far from
being a recluse, he lived an active life with his fellows. He left
his college class in order to go with other adventurers into the
Klondike; he went to Japan, and seal hunting in the Behring Sea as a
sailor before the mast; he tramped about the country; he traveled as
a war correspondent, and went on an adventurous voyage into the
South Seas in a 55-foot yacht. He wrote a great number of books, all
of which show a quick understanding of the needs of humanity. Some
of his works are thoughtful studies of social conditions. His best
known books are: _The Call of the Wild_, _The Sea Wolf_, and _The
Mutiny of the Elsinore_. He was born in San Francisco in 1876, and
died in 1916.

THE BATTLE OF THE MONSTERS
By MORGAN ROBERTSON

In this day when science plays so great a part in life it is only
natural that many stories should be based on scientific knowledge.
Since such stories must almost always more or less distort
scientific truth in order to make the facts have story-interest they
are usually called “pseudo-scientific,” that is, falsely scientific.

Edgar Allan Poe, who did so much for the short story, was one of the
first to write pseudo-scientific stories, his _Descent into the
Maelström_, and _A Tale of the Ragged Mountains_ being good examples
of his peculiar power.

_The Battle of the Monsters_ is a wonderfully clever
pseudo-scientific story. In it we enter the minute world of the
microscope, every character being infinitesimally small.

The story tells how a microbe of Asiatic cholera enters the veins of
John Anderson at the same moment when he is bitten by a rabid dog.
The “white, corrugated wall” is the dog’s tooth; the army of
dog-faced creatures is composed of the microbes of rabies, or
hydrophobia. The vibrant roar heard from time to time, is the beat
of the man’s heart. In the veins the cholera microbe finds the red
corpuscles and other cells and microbes that exist in the blood, and
also the white corpuscles that, according to Metschnikoff, act as
destroyers of the microbes of disease. We go with the cholera
microbe through the series of blood vessels into the heart and
thence back into the arteries and veins, all the time seeing the
struggle between the beneficent white corpuscles and the deadly
microbes of rabies. We see the desperate efforts to keep the
microbes of rabies from entering the cells and finding their way to
the brain. As the microbes of rabies reproduce they begin to win the
battle. The cholera microbe, himself fighting the hosts of rabies,
is about to be overcome, when the physician’s injection of antitoxin
brings a new army to fight the dog-faced creatures. Now that the
danger of rabies has been overcome attention is paid to the hero of
the story, who declares himself to be the microbe of Asiatic
cholera. At once the police guardians of the blood, the white
corpuscles, close on him and destroy him. Thus John Anderson escapes
all danger from rabies and from cholera, to both of which he had
been exposed. The battle, if microscopic, had been real, had been on
a grand scale, and had been of tremendous importance.

The pseudo-scientific story could have no better illustration. Every
detail is clear, vivid with action, and tense with interest. There
is no turning aside to give scientific information—nothing that is
dry-as-dust. The microbes and corpuscles, without losing their
essential characteristics, speak and act in ways that we can
understand. That is why the story is so successful. It is a human
story, based upon human interest. Familiar language, familiar ways
of thought, events that we can understand, convey to us information
on a learned scientific subject—the work of the white blood
corpuscles.

Morgan Robertson, 1861-1915, was born in Oswego, N. Y. From 1877 to
1886 he lived the life of a sailor at sea. Gifted with natural
literary ability he turned to writing, and wrote a number of
distinctly original stories, most of them about the sea, such as
_Spun Yarn_, _Masters of Men_, _Shipmates_, and _Down to the Sea_.

=Metschnikoff’s theory.= The great Russian physiologist, Iliya
Metschnikoff, 1845-1916, taught that the white blood corpuscles
act as destroyers of disease microbes.

=The wounds of Milton’s warring angels.= In Milton’s _Paradise Lost_
the angels, wounded in the war in heaven, at once recovered.

=Darwin.= Charles Darwin, 1809-1882. The great English naturalist,
founder of the “Darwinian Theory” of evolution from lower forms.

=Pasteur.= Louis Pasteur, 1822-1895. The great French microscopist,
and student of hydrophobia. He was the first to inoculate for
hydrophobia.

=Koch.= Robert Koch, 1843-1910. A great German physician who
discovered the bacilli of tuberculosis and of cholera.

A DILEMMA
By S. WEIR MITCHELL

A popular type of story leaves the reader, at the conclusion, to
choose one of two endings, either of which is open to objections.
Such a story sets the reader’s mind at work, leads him to review
every part of the story, and leaves a peculiarly lasting impression
of construction and emphasis. In stories of this sort there is
careful exclusion of everything that does not tend to lead to, or to
increase, the difficulty.

_A Dilemma_ makes complete preparation for the final puzzle by
giving all the necessary facts, and all the motives for possible
action, or non-action. When the reader reviews all that has been
said, and sees how cleverly the story is constructed, he finds that
the difficulty of solution appears even greater than at first.

Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, 1829-1914, was born in Philadelphia, and there
spent most of his life. As a physician he wrote many medical books,
and became one of the most distinguished neurologists in the world.
His unusual ability led to his becoming member of many learned
scientific societies in this country and in Europe. In spite of his
active medical work he found time for much writing of a purely
literary nature. Such books as _Hugh Wynne_, _The Adventures of
François_, and _Dr. North and His Friends_, are distinctly original
American contributions, and made their author unusually popular.

=Empress-Queen Maria Theresa=. Maria Theresa, 1717-1780. Archduchess
of Austria, Queen of Hungary, and wife of Emperor Francis I of
Austria. One of the most interesting and notable women in history.

THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE
By A. CONAN DOYLE

Edgar Allan Poe was the first author to succeed in the “detective
story.” His _Murders in the Rue Morgue_, _The Mystery of Marie
Roget_, and _The Purloined Letter_ are among the first stories of
their type. Since Poe’s time there have been all sorts of detective
stories,—good, bad, and indifferent,—from cheap penny-dreadfuls to
elaborate novels. Poe’s method has been followed in nearly every
one, whether written in this country, or abroad, as by Sir Arthur
Conan Doyle in England, Émile Gaboriau in France, or Anton Chekhov
in Russia.

Of all the thousands who have tried their hands in writing detective
stories Sir Arthur Conan Doyle has won the most pleasing success.
His Sherlock Holmes is a world-known character.

The _Red-Headed League_ is an admirable example of the author’s
method. The story is told by the hero’s friend, Dr. Watson, allowing
opportunity for close appearance of reality, and for unstinted
praise. The problem is introduced at first hand, apparently with
every detail. To a certain degree we are allowed to enter the series
of deductive reasonings pursued by Sherlock Holmes. We are given a
brilliant series of events, and then the final solution. Occasional
hints at other work performed by Sherlock Holmes tend to awaken
further interest. There is such closeness to life, realistic
character drawing, good humor, and natural conversation, that the
story,—like all the four books of the Sherlock Holmes series,—is
most attractive.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was born in Edinburgh in 1859. Both his
father and grandfather achieved fame as artists. Sir Arthur began
life as a physician and surgeon, but soon found his real work in
letters. He has written a number of our best historical novels, _The
White Company_, _Micah Clarke_, _The Refugees_, _Sir Nigel_, etc.,
and four books of stories about Sherlock Holmes, as well as much
other work both in prose and in verse.

=Omne ignotum pro magnifico.= Whatever is unknown is thought to be
magnificent.

=Sarasate.= A famous Spanish violinist, 1844—.

=Partie carrée.= A party of four.

“=L’homme c’est rien—l’œuvre c’est tout.=“ The man is nothing—the
work is everything.

=Gustave Flaubert.= 1821-1880. One of the greatest French novelists.

=George Sand.= The pseudonym of the Baroness Dudevant, 1804-1876, a
great French novelist and playwright.

ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK
By OWEN JOHNSON

In _One Hundred in the Dark_ Owen Johnson makes one of the
characters say that the peculiar fascination of the detective story
lies more in the statement of the problem than in the solution. “The
solution doesn’t count. It is usually banal; it should be
prohibited. What interests us is, can we guess it?”

_One Hundred in the Dark_ illustrates that type of detective story
that presents a problem but gives no solution. Giving all the
information that one could be expected to have, it presents a
problem with several different solutions possible. At the end of the
story the problem is left unsolved—the reader is “in the dark,” but,
because his mind has been awakened, he is fascinated. The author has
gone further than usual, for he gives the story as if told in a club
at the conclusion of a conversation in which several persons have
taken part. The story is followed by further conversation that
suggests a second problem—what did the members of the club think of
the person who told the story? The result is that the author has
cleverly established a definite setting, has aroused interest in the
type of story to be told, and has emphasized the problem by giving
it a new interest in the light of the question: What part did the
members of the club think Peters played in the story that he himself
told?

Owen Johnson was born in New York in 1878. He turned his college
life at Yale into literary account in his interesting novel, _Stover
at Yale_. He is the author of numerous short stories and plays.

=Bon mots.= Bright sayings.

=De Maupassant.= Guy de Maupassant, 1850-1893. A celebrated French
novelist and poet. In _Fort comme la Mort_ (Strong as Death) he
tells of the life of fashionable society.

=The Faust theme.= A reference to the great tragedy of _Faust_ by
the German poet, Goethe, 1749-1832. Faust personifies humanity
with all its longings.

=The Three Musketeers, etc.= _The Three Musketeers_, by Alexander
Dumas, père, 1803-1870; _Trilby_, by George du Maurier, 1834-1896,
and _Soldiers Three_, by Rudyard Kipling, 1865-, all tell stories
of the close comradeship of three men.

=Vie de Bohème.= _Scènes de la vie de Bohème_ by Henri Murger. The
opera _La Bohème_ is based upon this book.

=Bluebeard and The Moonstone.= In the stories of _Bluebeard_, and
_The Moonstone_, a famous mystery story by Wilkie Collins,
1824-1889, curiosity plays a leading part.

=Watteaulike.= A reference to the conventional pictures of
shepherdesses by Jean Antoine Watteau, a celebrated French
painter, 1684-1721.

=Fines herbes.= Vegetable greens.

=En maître.= As master.

A RETRIEVED REFORMATION
By O. HENRY

The story of self-sacrifice has appealed to people in all times,
whether it appears in history,—as in the partly legendary story of
Arnold von Winkelried, who gathered the Austrian spears against his
breast in order that his comrades might make a way through the ranks
of the enemy,—or in fiction, as in Dickens’ _A Tale of Two Cities_.
Such a story is particularly fascinating, when, as in the story of
Sidney Carton, it combines the idea of self-sacrifice with that of
fundamental change in character.

In _A Retrieved Reformation_ O. Henry has told, in a convincingly
brilliant way, how a man—always really good at heart,—even when set
in evil ways—was led through love to develop his better self. The
greatness of Jimmy Valentine’s soul is made clear by his instant
willingness to sacrifice every hope he had,—to lay everything on the
altar of love and manliness.

The quick, realistic, kindly-humorous characterizations, the clear,
logical arrangement of opposing forces, the dramatic situation at
the climax, and the instant solution,—for which every step has
inevitably prepared,—point alike to a master hand in story telling.

William Sidney Porter, 1867-1910,—better known by the name, “O.
Henry,” which he chose humorously because it is so easy to write
“O,” and because he happened to see “Henry” as a last name in a
newspaper account,—achieved as much popularity as any short story
writer could desire. He was born in North Carolina, and brought up
in Texas, where he gained the little schooling that fell to his lot.
He became a sort of rolling stone, working on various periodicals,
living in South America, working in Texas as a drug clerk, engaging
fully in literary work in New Orleans, and finally coming to New
York City where he sold stories as fast as he could write them—and
his powers of production were most astonishing. He was only 42 when
he died, but, in spite of his wandering life, he had made himself,
with almost careless ease, the master of the short story. He wrote
quite untrammeled by convention or custom, using slang, coining
words, writing in any way he pleased, but always, in reality,
following the best principles of story telling, making his plots
clear, convincing, and full of the unexpected humors of life. With
it all he wrote with a spirit of gentleness and often touched real
pathos. His favorite method was to surprise the reader by bringing
him to a most unexpected climax.

BROTHER LEO
By PHYLLIS BOTTOME

The world is so full of selfishness, and resulting misery, that
every one more or less often thinks how different life would be if
every individual were to be ideal. Somewhere, somehow, we think,
must be a Utopia where everything is as it should be.

_Brother Leo_ is not a fantastic dream of some unreal place. It is a
simply beautiful story of a monk who had known no other life than
that in his monastic retreat on an island near Venice. There, in a
sort of heaven on earth, in a life of extreme simplicity, the young
man, untouched by the world, developed all that should characterize
us in our daily lives. For one day he goes out into the city, comes
into touch with its veneer and dishonesty, and goes back joyfully,
without the slightest regret, into his calm retreat.

The story, or character sketch, has no startling event. The young
monk moves in the soft light of kindliness, a beautiful, dream-like
figure presented to us with sufficient realism to give
verisimilitude. How much better to show this modern, idealistic
figure in modern surroundings than to picture some one in the
distant past, or in the still more distant future!

Phyllis Bottome was born in England. Her father was an American
clergyman and her mother an English woman. She has spent most of her
life in England, although she has lived in America, France and
Italy. She has written many short stories, some of which have been
collected in a volume called _The Derelict_.

=Torcello.= An island six miles northeast of Venice.

=Saint Francis.= Francis of Assisi, 1182-1226. The founder of the
monastic order of Franciscans.

=Poverelli.= Poor people.

=Rembrandt.= 1607-1669. A great Dutch painter. Some of his
pictures,—especially _The Night Watch_,—show wonderful light
effects.

=Poverino.= Poor little fellow.

=The sin of Esau.= See the Bible story in _Genesis_ 25: 27-34. Esau
sold his birthright in order to satisfy his hunger.

=St. Francis’ birds.= St. Francis loved all animate and inanimate
nature, and once preached to the birds as if they could understand
him.

=Per Bacco, Signore.= By Bacchus, Sir!

=Signore Dio.= Lord God.

=Veramente.= Truly.

=Il Signore Dio.= The Lord God.

=Piazzetta.= An open square near the landing place in Venice.

=The ducal palace.= The palace of the Doges of Venice, built in the
fifteenth century.

=Chi lo sa?= Who knows?

=The column of the Lion of St. Mark’s.= A column in the Piazzetta
bearing a winged lion, the emblem of St. Mark.

=Saint Mark’s.= One of the most famous and beautiful church
buildings in the world, originally founded in 830. Its attractive
Byzantine architecture and its wonderful mosaics have always given
delight.