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In the Mist of the Mountains   By: (1872-1958)

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IN THE MIST OF THE MOUNTAINS

BY THE SAME AUTHOR (Uniform with this volume) SEVEN LITTLE AUSTRALIANS THE FAMILY AT MISRULE THE LITTLE LARRIKIN MISS BOBBIE THE CAMP AT WANDINONG THREE LITTLE MAIDS THE STORY OF A BABY LITTLE MOTHER MEG BETTY AND CO. MOTHER'S LITTLE GIRL THE WHITE ROOF TREE THE STOLEN VOYAGE

[Illustration: "'I'm so sorry, chickies,' she said kindly." (Page 19.)]

IN THE MIST OF THE MOUNTAINS

By ETHEL TURNER (Mrs. H. R. Curlewis)

Author of "Seven Little Australians," "The Little Larrikin," "Miss Bobbie," etc., etc.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. MACFARLANE

LONDON WARD LOCK & CO. LIMITED 1908

TO H. R. C.

"They that have heard the overword Know life's a dream worth dreaming." Henley.

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE I Somewhat Contagious 9 II Treating of Larkin and his Commission 23 III Miss Bibby 31 IV The Famous Novelist 43 V Ante prandial Visitors 55 VI A Grocery Order 60 VII Letters to a Mother 72 VIII Across the Rubicon 87 IX The Interview for the "Evening Mail" 96 X Anna enjoys Ill health 112 XI Miss Bibby's Holiday 126 XII In Black and White 135 XIII An Interview with the Interviewer 144 XIV The Literary Microbe 156 XV "Out of the Mouths of Babes" 170 XVI Wooing the Muse 179 XVII Literature is Low 190 XVIII An Editing Pencil 197 XIX Max Runs Amuck 205 XX A Lesson in Discipline 216 XXI In Print at last 227 XXII A Master Mind 229 XXIII The Picnic at the Falls 243 XXIV At the Second Fall 259

CHAPTER I

SOMEWHAT CONTAGIOUS

It is October and the mountains are waking from their short winter sleep.

It is October, the month of the moving mists.

Come and let us take a walk, not down Fleet Street with Dr. Johnson, but up a mountain side with Nature, nay, with God Himself. There is nothing to see, absolutely nothing at all. You know that there are trees on either hand of you, and that the undergrowth is bursting into the stars and delicate bells of its springtime bloom. But your knowledge of this is merely one of the services your memory does for you, for the mist has covered it all away from sight.

You look behind you and your world is blotted out.

You look in front of you, nay, you cannot look in front of you, for the mist lies as a veil, actually on your face.

"I breathed up a whole cloud this morning," Lynn remarked once.

"I eated one and it was nasty," said Max.

Still you continue to look in front of you as far as may be.

And the next moment the veil lifts, clean up over your head perhaps, and you see it rolling away on the wind to one side of you, yards and yards of flying white gossamer, its ragged edges catching in the trees... Continue reading book >>




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