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Helen of the Old House By: Harold Bell Wright (1872-1944) |
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BY HAROLD BELL WRIGHT
1921
CONTENTS
BOOK ONE THE INTERPRETER
CHAPTER I. THE HUT ON THE CLIFF II. LITTLE MAGGIE'S PRINCESS LADY III. THE INTERPRETER IV. PETER MARTIN AT HOME V. ADAM WARD'S ESTATE VI. ON THE OLD ROAD VII. THE HIDDEN THING VIII. WHILE THE PEOPLE SLEEP IX. THE MILL X. CONCERNING THE NEW MANAGER XI. COMRADES XII. TWO SIDES OF A QUESTION
BOOK TWO THE TWO HELENS
XIII. THE AWAKENING XIV. THE WAY BACK XV. AT THE OLD HOUSE XVI. HER OWN PEOPLE XVII. IN THE NIGHT
BOOK THREE THE STRIKE
XVIII. THE GATHERING STORM XIX. ADAM WARD'S WORK XX. THE PEOPLE'S AMERICA XXI. PETER MARTIN'S PROBLEM XXII. OLD FRIENDS XXIII. A LAST CHANCE XXIV. THE FLATS XXV. McIVER's OPPORTUNITY XXVI. AT THE CALL OF THE WHISTLE XXVII. JAKE VODELL'S MISTAKE XXVIII. THE MOB AND THE MILL XXIX. CONTRACTS
BOOK FOUR THE OLD HOUSE
XXX. "JEST LIKE THE INTERPRETER SAID"
BOOK I THE INTERPRETER
" Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields ."
CHAPTER I THE HUT ON THE CLIFF
No well informed resident of Millsburgh, when referring to the
principal industry of his little manufacturing city, ever says "the
mills" it is always "the Mill." The reason for this common habit of mind is that one mill so
overshadows all others, and so dominates the industrial and civic life
of this community, that in the people's thought it stands for all. The philosopher who keeps the cigar stand on the corner of Congress
Street and Ward Avenue explained it very clearly when he answered an
inquiring stranger, "You just can't think Millsburgh without thinkin'
mills; an' you can't think mills without thinkin' the Mill." As he turned from the cash register to throw his customer's change on
the scratched top of the glass show case, the philosopher added with a
grin that was a curious blend of admiration, contempt and envy, "An'
you just can't think the Mill without thinkin' Adam Ward." That grin was another distinguishing mark of the well informed resident
of Millsburgh. Always, in those days, when the citizens mentioned the
owner of the Mill, their faces took on that curious half laughing
expression of mingled admiration, contempt and envy. But it has come to pass that in these days when the people speak of
Adam Ward they do not smile. When they speak of Adam Ward's daughter,
Helen, they smile, indeed, but with quite a different meaning. The history of Millsburgh is not essentially different from that of a
thousand other cities of its class. Born of the natural resources of the hills and forests, the first rude
mill was located on that wide sweeping bend of the river. About this
industrial beginning a settlement gathered. As the farm lands of the
valley were developed, the railroad came, bringing more mills. And so
the town grew up around its smoky heart. It was in those earlier days that Adam Ward, a workman then, patented
and introduced the new process. It was the new process, together with
its owner's native genius for "getting on," that, in time, made Adam
the owner of the Mill. And, finally, it was this combination of Adam
and the new process that gave this one mill dominion over all others. As the Mill increased in size, importance and power, and the town grew
into the city, Adam Ward's material possessions were multiplied many
times. Then came the year of this story. It was midsummer. The green, wooded hills that form the southern
boundary of the valley seemed to be painted on shimmering gauze. The
grainfields on the lowlands across the river were shining gold. But the
slate colored dust from the unpaved streets of that section of
Millsburgh known locally as the "Flats" covered the wretched houses,
the dilapidated fences, the hovels and shanties, and everything animate
or inanimate with a thick coating of dingy gray powder. Shut in as it
is between a long curving line of cliffs on the south and a row of tall
buildings on the river bank, the place was untouched by the refreshing
breeze that stirred the trees on the hillside above... Continue reading book >>
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