Genre Adventure. Page - 17

And God ... divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament.... And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered into one place, and let the dry land appear.... And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas."

Thus beautifully did the children of men express their earliest idea of the world's distribution of land and water.

And where, on our modern maps, was this little earth, and what was it like? Did trees and flowers cover the land? Did rivers flow into the sea? Listen again to the old tradition that still rings down the ages--

"And the Lord God planted a garden eastward in Eden ... and a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became four heads. The name of the first is Pison ... and the name of the second river is Gihon; the name of the third river is Hiddekel (Tigris). And the fourth river is Euphrates."

[Illustration: THE GARDEN OF EDE

ll the world on his mountain-pile of history and romance. Longfellow, I believe, is not yet at the Oxbow, else the winged horse would neigh at him. But here in Lenox I should find our most truthful novelist [Miss Sedgwick], who has made the scenery and life of Berkshire all her own. On the hither side of Pittsfield sits Herman Melville, shaping out the gigantic conception of his 'White Whale,' while the gigantic shadow of Greylock looms upon him from his study window. Another bound of my flying steed would bring me to the door of Holmes, whom I mention last, because Pegasus would certainly unseat me the next minute, and claim the poet as his rider.'

While at Pittsfield, Mr. Melville was induced to enter the lecture field. From 1857 to 1860 he filled many engagements in the lyceums, chiefly speaking of his adventures in the South Seas. He lectured in cities as widely apart as Montreal, Chicago, Baltimore, and San Francisco, sailing to the last-named place in 1860, by way of Cape Horn, on the Meteor, com

a foreign land, father?"

"Ay, but he will return. His deer are not yet to be slain by your arrows, child. When you are Ranger at Locksley, in your father's stead, who shall then say you nay?"

"My father does not shoot the King's deer, except those past their time," answered Robin, quickly. "He tends them, and slays instead any robbers who would maltreat or kill the does. Do you think I could hit yon beast, father? He makes a pretty mark, and my arrow would but prick him?"

[Illustration: ROBIN AND HIS MOTHER GO TO NOTTINGHAM FAIR

The road wound in and about the forest, and at noon they came to a part where the trees nigh shut out the sky.]

The clerk glanced toward Mistress Fitzooth. "Dame," said he, gravely, "do you not think that here, in this cool shadow, we might well stay our travelling? Surely it is near the hour of noon? And," here he sank his voice to a sly whisper, "it would be well perhaps to let this temptation pass away from before our Robin! Else, I doubt

is prisoner ahead of him, started for the smoker. It was two cars ahead. The train was vestibuled. The first platform they crossed was tightly enclosed; but at the second Billy saw that a careless porter had left one of the doors open. The train was slowing down for some reason--it was going, perhaps, twenty miles an hour.

Billy was the first upon the platform. He was the first to see the open door. It meant one of two things--a chance to escape, or, death. Even the latter was to be preferred to life imprisonment.

Billy did not hesitate an instant. Even before the deputy sheriff realized that the door was open, his prisoner had leaped from the moving train dragging his guard after him.

CHAPTER II

THE ESCAPE

BYRNE had no time to pick any particular spot to jump for. When he did jump he might have been directly over a picket fence, or a bottomless pit--he did not know. Nor did he care.

As it happened he was ov

ied; in which the narrator of the tale finds himself unexpectedly involved both on its ruthless and its delicate side.

"Falk" shares with one other of my stories ("The Return" in the "Tales of Unrest" volume) the distinction of never having been serialized. I think the copy was shown to the editor of some magazine who rejected it indignantly on the sole ground that "the girl never says anything." This is perfectly true. From first to last Hermann's niece utters no word in the tale -- and it is not because she is dumb, but for the simple reason that whenever she happens to come under the observation of the narrator she has either no occasion or is too profoundly moved to speak. The editor, who obviously had read the story, might have perceived that for himself. Apparently he did not, and I refrained from pointing out the impossibility to him because, since he did not venture to say that "the girl" did not live, I felt no concern at his indignation.

All the other stories were serialized. The "Typh

rmagnac or red Anjou? This was a Burgundy of whichMonsieur le Marquis thought highly, and this a delicate Lombardywine that His Majesty had oft commended. Or perhaps Monsieur deChatellerault would prefer to taste the last vintage of Bardelys?

And so they plagued him and bewildered him until his choice wasmade; and even then a couple of them held themselves in readinessbehind his chair to forestall his slightest want. Indeed, had hebeen the very King himself, no greater honour could we have shownhim at the Hotel de Bardelys.

But the restraint that his coming had brought with it hung stillupon the company, for Chatellerault was little loved, and hispresence there was much as that of the skull at an Egyptian banquet.

For of all these fair-weather friends that sat about my table -amongst whom there were few that had not felt his power - I fearedthere might be scarcely one would have the grace to dissemble hiscontempt of the fallen favourite. That he was fallen, as much hiswords as what

da,would know what he was doing and that he desiredto communicate with Dorothy. For Glinda has a bigbook in which is recorded every event that takesplace anywhere in the world, just the moment thatit happens, and so of course the book would tellher about the wireless message.

And that was the way Dorothy heard that theHistorian wanted to speak with her, and there wasa Shaggy Man in the Land of Oz who knew how totelegraph a wireless reply. The result was thatthe Historian begged so hard to be told the latestnews of Oz, so that he could write it down for thechildren to read, that Dorothy asked permission ofOzma and Ozma graciously consented.

That is why, after two long years of waiting,another Oz story is now presented to the childrenof America. This would not have been possible hadnot some clever man invented the "wireless" and anequally clever child suggested the idea ofreaching the mysterious Land of Oz by its means.

L. Frank Baum.

"OZCOT"at Hollywoodin California

LIST

During the years he had served as master of fence at the English Court, thesons of royalty had learned to thrust and parry and cut as only De Vaccould teach the art, and he had been as conscientious in the discharge ofhis duties as he had been in his unswerving hatred and contempt for hispupils.

And now the English King had put upon him such an insult as might only bewiped out by blood.

As the blow fell, the wiry Frenchman clicked his heels together, andthrowing down his foil, he stood erect and rigid as a marble statue beforehis master. White and livid was his tense drawn face, but he spoke noword.

He might have struck the King, but then there would have been left to himno alternative save death by his own hand; for a king may not fight with alesser mortal, and he who strikes a king may not live -- the king's honormust be satisfied.

Had a French king struck him, De Vac would have struck back, and gloried inthe fate which permitted him to die for the honor of France; but an EnglishK

mouth and forked tongue thrust out. I painted the eyes red for anger.

"'There, stand so!' I said, 'and glare and hiss at my foes.'

"In the stern I curved the tail up almost as high as the head. There I put the pilot's seat and a strong tiller for the rudder. On the breast and sides I carved the dragon's scales. Then I painted it all black and on the tip of every scale I put gold. I called her 'Waverunner.' There she sat on the rollers, as fair a ship as I ever saw.

"The night that it was finished I went to my father's feast. After the meats were eaten and the mead-horns came round, I stood up from my bench and raised my drinking-horn[3] high and spoke with a great voice:

"'This is my vow: I will sail to Norway and I will harry the coast and fill my boat with riches. Then I will get me a farm and will winter in that land. Now who will follow me?'

"'He is but a boy,' the men said. 'He has opened his mouth wider than he can do.'

"But others jumped to their feet with the