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The Idyl of Twin Fires   By: (1878-1957)

Book cover

First Page:


[Illustration: "So that is why you wanted my brook to come from the spring!"]




Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty


Publishers : : New York

Copyright, 1914, 1915, by Doubleday, Page & Company

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian


I. I Buy a Farm on Sight 3 II. My Money Goes and My Farmer Comes 19 III. New Joy in an Old Orchard 34 IV. I Pump up a Ghost 47 V. I Am Humbled by a Drag Scraper 66 VI. The Hermit Sings at Twilight 77 VII. The Ghost of Rome in Roses 88 VIII. I Pick Paint and a Quarrel 102 IX. We Seat Thoreau in the Chimney Nook, and I Write a Sonnet 113 X. We Climb a Hill Together 130 XI. Act├Žon and Diana 143 XII. Shopping as a Dissipation 155 XIII. The Advent of the Pilligs 164 XIV. The First Lemon Pie 177 XV. A Pagan Thrush 192 XVI. I Go to New York for a Purpose 204 XVII. I Do Not Return Alone 220 XVIII. We Build a Pool 227 XIX. The Nice Other Things 237 XX. Callers 245 XXI. Autumn in the Garden 252 XXII. In Praise of Country Winter 264 XXIII. Spring in the Garden 275 XXIV. Some Rural Problems 282 XXV. Horas Non Numero Nisi Serenas 297


"So that is why you wanted my brook to come from the spring!" Frontispiece She was sitting with a closed book on her knee, gazing into the fire 124 "Well, well, you've got yourself a bookay," she said 174 "We are your neighbours ... you are very fortunate to have us for neighbours" 246


Chapter I


I was sitting at a late hour in my room above the college Yard, correcting daily themes. I had sat at a late hour in my room above the college Yard, correcting daily themes, for it seemed an interminable number of years was it six or seven? I had no great love for it, certainly. Some men who go into teaching, and of course all men who become great teachers, do have a genuine love for their work. But I am afraid I was one of those unfortunates who take up teaching as a stop gap, a means of livelihood while awaiting "wider opportunities." These opportunities in my case were to be the authorship of an epoch making novel, or a great drama, or some similar masterpiece. I had been accredited with "brilliant promise" in my undergraduate days, and the college had taken me into the English department upon graduation.

Well, that was seven years ago. I was still correcting daily themes.

It was a warm night in early April. I had a touch of spring fever, and wrote vicious, sarcastic comments on the poor undergraduate pages of unexpressiveness before me, as through my open windows drifted up from the Yard a snatch of song from some returning theatre party. Most of these themes were hopeless. Your average man has no sense of literature. Moreover, by the time he reaches college it is too late to teach him even common, idiomatic expressiveness... Continue reading book >>

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