Test Bank for How Children Develop 5th Edition Siegler

Saffran Eisenberg DeLoache Gershoff 1319014232

9781319014230
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eisenberg-deloache-gershoff-1319014232-9781319014230/

1. Which statement is NOT a reason why developmental psychologists find theories of

child development useful?
A) Theories raise fundamental questions about human nature.
B) Theories provide definitive answers to key questions about child development.
C) Theories motivate new research.
D) Theories provide frameworks for understanding important phenomena.

2. Which theory does NOT address the question of how change occurs?
A) Piagetian
B) information-processing
C) sociocultural
D) dynamic-systems

3. Which theory focuses on the theme of the active child?

A) information-processing
B) sociocultural
C) dynamic-systems
D) all of these theories

4. Which theory of cognitive development is the broadest in terms of age range and
content?
A) information-processing
B) sociocultural
C) Piagetian
D) dynamic-systems

5. The view that BEST represents Piaget's theory of development is of the child as:
A) social being.
B) scientist.
C) computational system.
D) product of evolution.

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 6. Piaget believed that the BEST way for children to learn is through:
A) rewards and punishments.
B) modeling peers and adults.
C) explicit instruction from adults.
D) experimenting with the world on their own.

7. Piaget believed that children of different ages think in _____ ways.

A) quantitatively different
B) quantitatively similar
C) qualitatively different
D) qualitatively similar

8. Which factor is NOT a central property of Piaget's theory?

A) qualitative change
B) broad applicability
C) brief transitions
D) variant sequence

9. The process by which children integrate new information into concepts they already
understand is referred to as:
A) equilibration.
B) adaptation.
C) accommodation.
D) assimilation.

10. Accommodation refers to the process by which children:

A) create a stable understanding.
B) incorporate new information into their current understanding.
C) adjust their understanding in response to new information.
D) balance assimilation and adaptation.

11. The process by which children balance assimilation and accommodation to create stable
understanding is referred to as:
A) equilibration.
B) adaptation.
C) alteration.
D) calibration.

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12. Which list BEST represents the phases of Piaget's equilibration process?
A) equilibrium, disequilibrium, assimilation
B) disequilibrium, adaptation, accommodation
C) adaptation, assimilation, equilibrium
D) equilibrium, disequilibrium, equilibrium

13. Bonnie is a preschooler whose father works outside the home and whose mother stays
home with her. On learning that her friend's mother works outside the home, Bonnie is
confused because she believes that only fathers work outside the home. Piaget would
say that Bonnie is in a state of:
A) chaos.
B) maladjustment.
C) disequilibrium.
D) dissimilation.

14. Which statement does NOT describe a characteristic of Piaget's stages?

A) The transitions from one stage to another are instantaneous.
B) Children proceed through the stages in a fixed order.
C) The type of thinking typical of a particular stage pervades thinking across diverse
content areas.
D) The type of thinking typical of a particular stage is qualitatively different from the
type of thinking typical of the previous stage.

15. Which list represents Piaget's stages in the CORRECT chronological order?
A) preoperational, sensorimotor, concrete operational, formal operational
B) sensorimotor, preoperational, concrete operational, formal operational
C) sensorimotor, concrete operational, preoperational, formal operational
D) preoperational, sensorimotor, formal operational, concrete operational

16. Which term does NOT identify one of Piaget's stages?

A) formal operational
B) sensorimotor
C) postoperational
D) preoperational

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17. This is the tendency to reach for a hidden object where it was last found, rather than in
the new location where it was last hidden.
A) object permanence
B) deferred imitation
C) A-not-B error
D) symbolic representation

18. Reflexes are the primary manner of interacting with the world for children of what age?
A) newborn
B) 6 months
C) 9 months
D) 12 months

19. According to Piaget, the accomplishment that characterizes the first few months of life
is infants' ability to:
A) search for hidden objects.
B) react to the world with reflexes.
C) repeat others' actions long after they have occurred.
D) integrate reflexes into more complex behaviors.

20. When Delia's father places a rattle in her hand, Delia often brings the rattle to her mouth
to suck on it. According to Piaget's theory, Delia likely developed this skill at
approximately what age?
A) newborn
B) 3 months
C) 6 months
D) 10 months

21. According to Piaget, infants of what age begin to show interest in toys, animals, and
people beyond their own bodies?
A) 12 months
B) 3 months
C) 6 months
D) 10 months

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22. The understanding that objects continue to exist even when they are out of view is
referred to as object:
A) existence.
B) permanence.
C) recollection.
D) stability.

23. Piaget believed that infants develop the concept of object permanence at approximately
_____ months.
A) 5
B) 8
C) 12
D) 16

24. Amy and her father are playing with a squeaky toy. Amy's father is squeezing the toy in
front of Amy. Amy is very excited and reaches for the toy. Amy's father, however,
quickly hides the toy behind his back. At this point, Amy turns away from her father and
begins to look at the ladybug design on her dress. Amy is probably approximately what
age?
A) 1 month
B) 6 months
C) 10 months
D) 15 months

25. Which list places infants' skills in the order in which Piaget suggested they are
acquired?
A) integrate reflexes into more complex behaviors; modify reflexes to make them
more adaptive; repeat actions on the environment that bring interesting results;
search for hidden objects
B) integrate reflexes into more complex behaviors; search for hidden objects; modify
reflexes to make them more adaptive; repeat actions on the environment that bring
interesting results
C) modify reflexes to make them more adaptive; repeat actions on the environment
that bring interesting results; integrate reflexes into more complex behaviors;
search for hidden objects
D) modify reflexes to make them more adaptive; integrate reflexes into more complex
behaviors; repeat actions on the environment that bring interesting results; search
for hidden objects

Page 5
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The Wolf-with-two-feet turned and looked down at the spot at which
Raymond was staring.
“Where?” he asked in Cherokee, for the British officer spoke the
language with enough facility to enable them in casual conversation to
dispense with an interpreter.
The impression was of a deep indentation in the centre, surrounded at the
distance of some inches by a ring, plainly marked but less deep, and this
had an outer circular imprint very symmetrical but still more shallow.
Raymond saw that for one moment the eyes of the Indian rested upon it,
but still saying, “Where?” he stepped about, looking now in every
direction but the one indicated; all at once, as if inadvertently, he pressed
his foot deeply into the marshy soil, and the water rushing up obliterated
forever the impression of the deep indentation and the two concentric
circles.
Raymond called out to him pettishly that he had spoiled the opportunity
of discovering the cause of so strange a mark.
“’Twas the track of a snake, perhaps, or a tortoise,” the Wolf suggested.
When he was assured that this was something circular and symmetrical,
he said he did not know what it could have been, but some things had big
hoofs. Perhaps it might have been Mr. Morton’s Big Devil, whom he was
so fond of preaching about!
“In Choté?” asked Raymond.
“Oh no—not in Choté,” the Wolf made haste to say—“Mr. Morton could
not preach in Choté. Cunigacatgoah has a sacred stone, an amulet, that
belongs to the Cherokee people, and it would not suffer a word about Mr.
Morton’s very wicked Big Devil in the city of refuge.”
“An amulet against evil,” said Raymond sarcastically—“and yet the
Devil walks along the river-bank of the ‘ever-sacred’ soil and leaves his
big footprint in defiance!”
“True,—true,”—said the Wolf, doubling like his own prey, “then it
couldn’t have been the Devil. It must have been a buffalo,—just a big
bull buffalo.”
“A big bull buffalo with one foot,” sneered Raymond, logically, “there is
no other track near it,—except,” he continued looking narrowly at the
earth, “the imprint of a number of moccasins of several sizes.” He was
merely irritated at the balking of his natural curiosity, but he noticed with
surprise that Wolf-with-two-feet was very eager to quit the subject, and
digressed with some skill and by an imperceptible gradation from the
character of this spongy soil, so plastic to impressions, to the alluvial
richness of the whole belt along the watercourses and thence to the large
yield of the public fields that lay to the southwest of Choté, and which
were even now, early as it was, in process of being planted. And then, as
if suddenly bethinking himself, he changed the direction of their stroll to
give Raymond an exhibition of the primitive methods of agriculture
practised with such signal success at Choté Great. At this hour the
laborers had quitted the fields, leaving, however, ample token of their
industry. For in the whole stretch of the cultivated land the fresh, rich,
black loam had been turned, but with never a plough, and daily large
numbers of women and girls repaired thither under the guidance of the
“second men” of the town to drop the corn. Though the world was so full
of provender elsewhere, the birds took great account of this proceeding,
and thronged the air twittering and chattering together as if discussing
the crop prospects. Now and again a bluejay flew across the wide
expanse of the fields, clanging a wild woodsy cry with a peculiarly saucy
intonation, as though to say, “I’ll have my share! I’ll have my share!”
But birds were builders in these days, and he could hardly see a beak that
was not laden with a straw. Oh, joyous architects, how benign that no
foreknowledge of the storm that was to wreck these frail tenements, so
craftily constructed, or of the marauder that was to rifle them, hushed the
song or weighted the wing! Human beings have a hard bargain in their
vaunted reason.
There was none of the delight in the spring; none of the bliss of sheer
existence in days so redundant of soft sheen, of sweet sound, of fragrant
winds, of the stirring pulse of universal revivification; none of that trust
in the future which is itself the logic of gratitude for the boons of the
past, expressed in the hard-bitten faces of the head-men and in the
serious eyes of the young officer when they sat in a circle around the fire
in the centre of the council-house at Choté. They were all anxious,
troubled, each determined to mould the days to come after the fashion of
his individual will, only mindful enough of the will of others to have a
sense of doubt, of poignant hope, and a strenuous realization of conflict.
Thus the young officer was wary, and the Indian chiefs were even wilier
than their wont as he opened the subject of his mission.
The interpreter of each faction stood behind his principal, for a long time
silent as the official pipe was smoked. The council-house of the usual
type, a great rotunda built on a high mound near the “beloved square,”
and plastered within and without with red clay, was dark, save for the
glimmer of the dull fire and the high, narrow door, through which could
be seen the town of similar architecture but of smaller edifices, with here
and there a log cabin of the fashion which the pioneers imitated in their
earlier dwellings, familiar to this day, and the open shed-like buildings at
each side of the “beloved square.” The river was in full view, a burnished
steely gray, and the further mountains delicately blue, but more than
once, as Raymond glanced toward them, his eyes were filled with a
blinding red glare, sudden, translucent, transitory.
Only the nerve of a strong man, young, hearty, well-fed, enabled him to
be still and make no sign. The first thought in his mind was that this was
a premonition of illness, and hence it behooved him to address himself
swiftly to the business in hand that no interest of the government might
suffer. As he pressed his palm to his brow for a moment, it occurred to
him that the strange feather-crested faces were watching him curiously,
inimically,—but perhaps that was merely because they doubted the intent
of his mission.
And so in Choté, in the unbroken peace of its traditional sanctity, he
began with open hostility.
“You signed a treaty, Cunigacatgoah,” he addressed the ancient chief,
“and you Oconostota, and other head-men for the whole Cherokee
nation,—in many things you have broken it.”
Several chiefs held out their hands to receive “sticks,” that they might
reply categorically to this point when he had finished. But he shook his
head. He did not intend to conform to Indian etiquette further than in
sitting on a buffalo rug on the floor, with his legs in their white breeches
and leggings folded up before him like the blades of a clasp knife. He
gesticulated much with his hands, around which his best lace frills
dangled, and he wore a dress sword as a mark of ceremony; his hair was
powdered, too, and he carried his cocked hat in his left hand. He did not
intend to be rude, but he was determined to lose no time in useless
observances, because of that strange affection, that curious red glare
which had seemed to suffuse his eyes, portending some disturbance of
the brain perchance.
“No,” he said firmly, declining to receive or to give the notched sticks, “I
am not going to enter into the various details. There is only one thing out
of kilter about that treaty which I am going to settle. It relates to the
cannon which you brought here after the capitulation of Fort Loudon.
They were to be delivered up to the British government according to the
last treaty. Eight of these guns were taken down to Fort Prince George,
one was burst by an overcharge at Fort Loudon, but others you have not
relinquished. You have evaded compliance.”
A long silence ensued, while the chiefs gazed inscrutably into the fire.
Their pride, their dignity suffered from this cavalier address. All their
rancor was aroused against this man,—even his callowness was
displeasing to them. They revolted at his incapacity for ceremonial
observance, save, indeed, such as appertained to his military drill, which
they esteemed hideous and of no value to the British in the supreme test
of battle. They resented his persistence in having ensconced himself here
under the protection of the sanctities of Choté until after his offensive
mission should be disclosed and answered. He had evidently neither the
will nor the art to disguise it with euphemistic phraseology that might
render it more acceptable to a feint of consideration. It was not now,
however, at the moment of the French withdrawal, that the Cherokees
could resist by force an English demand. Diplomacy must needs
therefore fill the breach. In some way Captain Howard had evidently
learned that the three missing cannon were not sunk in the river by the
garrison of Fort Loudon as the Cherokees had declared. With this
thought in his mind, Cunigacatgoah said suddenly, “Only three cannon
failed to be relinquished,—they had been in the river, and they were all
sick,—they could not speak.”
“Sick,—are they? I have a sovereign remedy for a sick cannon,” declared
Raymond. “They shall speak and—” Once more as he glanced
mechanically through the open door toward the brilliant outer world,
with the gleam of the river below the clifty mountains and a flight of
swans above, that curious translucent red light flashed through his eye-
balls.
This time he was quicker,—or perhaps accident favored him, for as, half-
blinded, his glance returned, he saw the red light disappearing into the
ample sleeve of one of the Indians who sat on the opposite side of the
fire.
Raymond’s first feeling was an infinite relief. No illness menaced him,
no obscure affection of the nerves or brain. Some art of conjuring,—
some mechanical contrivance, was it?—they were employing to distract
his attention. In their folly and fatuity did they dream that they might
thus undermine his purpose, or weaken his intellect, or destroy his sight,
or work a spell upon him? He marked how they watched his every
motion.
He looked vaguely, uncertainly, about the shadowy place, with its red
wall. The decorated buffalo hides suspended on it showed dully against
its rich uniform tint. The circle of the seated Indian chiefs in the shifting
shadow and the flickering light, with their puerile ornaments of paint and
feathers and strings of worthless beads about the barbaric garb of skin
and fur, was itself vague, unreal, like a curious poly-tinted daub, some
extravagant depiction of aboriginal art. Each face, however, was
expressive in a different degree of power, of perspicacity, of subtlety, and
many devious mental processes, and he marvelled, as many wiser men
have marvelled since, that these endowments of value should fail to
compass the essentials of civilization, theorizing dimly that the Indians
were a remnant of a different order of being, the conclusion of a period
of human development, the final expression of an alien mind, radically
of an age and species not to be repeated.
There was absolutely no basis of mutual comprehension, and Raymond
was definitely aware of this when he said, “I can cure a disabled cannon,
—show me the guns,”—and a sudden silence ensued, the demand
evidently being wholly unexpected.
“Tell me,” he urged, his patience growing scant, “where are the guns
now?” Then catching the shifty expression of the chief, Cunigacatgoah,
he was moved to add, disregarding the interpreter, “Gahusti tsuskadi
nigesuna.” (You never tell a lie.)
Now and again his knowledge of the Cherokee language had enabled
him to detect the linguister for the British force softening his downright
candid soldierly phrases. The interpreter was seeking to mitigate the
evident displeasure excited by the commander’s address, which he
thought might rebound upon himself, as the medium of such unpleasant
communication. There was something so sarcastic in this feigned
compliment that it might well have seemed positively unsafe, even more
perilous than overt insult, but as Raymond, with a wave of his cocked hat
in his left hand and a smiling bow of his heavily powdered and becurled
head, demanded, “Haga tsunu iyuta datsi waktuhi?” (Tell me where they
are now?) a vague smile played over the features of Cunigacatgoah, and
he who was wont to believe so little, found it easy to imagine himself
implicitly believed, the model of candor.
He instantly assumed an engaging appearance of extreme frankness, and
abruptly said, “Now, I, myself, will tell you the whole truth.”
Raymond looked at him eagerly, breathlessly, full of instant expectation.
“The cannon are not here,—they have all three sickened and died.”
The soldier sat dumbfounded for a moment, realizing that this was no
figurative speech, that he was expected to entirely believe this,—so low
they rated the intelligence of the English! He experienced the revolt of
reason that seizes on the mind amidst the grotesqueries of a dream. He
had no words to combat the follies of the proposition. Only with a
sarcastic, fleering laugh he cried aloud, “Gahusti tsuskadi nigesuna!”
(You never tell a lie.)
The next moment he felt choking. He was balked, helpless, hopeless, at
the end. He knew that Captain Howard had anticipated no strategy. The
savages could not by force hold the guns in the teeth of the British
demand, and the commandant of Fort Prince George had fancied that
they would be yielded, however reluctantly, on official summons. They
were necessary to Captain Howard, to complete his account of the
munitions of war intrusted to his charge, upon being transferred from
Fort Prince George. And this was the result of Raymond’s mission,—to
return empty-handed, outwitted, to fail egregiously in the conduct of an
expedition in which he had been graced with an independent command,
—Raymond was hot and cold by turns when he thought of it! Yet the
guns had disappeared, the Indians craftily held their secret, the
impossible checks even martial ardor. Raymond, however, was of the
type of stubborn campaigner that dies in the last ditch. The imminence of
defeat had quickened all his faculties.
“Ha-nagwa dugihyali” (I’ll make a search), he blustered.
But the threat was met with sarcastic smiles, and Cunigacatgoah said
again with urgent candor,—“Agiyahusa cannon.” (My cannon are dead.)
As Raymond hesitated, half distraught with anxiety and eagerness, the
red light suddenly flashed once more through his eye-balls from its
invisible source. He was inherently and by profession a soldier, and it
was not of his nature nor his trade to receive a thrust without an effort to
return a counter-thrust.
“Hidden!” he cried suddenly, with eyes distended. “Hidden!” he paused,
gasping for effect. “I know the spot,” he screamed wildly, springing to
his feet; for he had just remembered the peculiar track he had noticed on
soft ground near the river, and he now bethought himself that only the
trunnion of a dismounted gun could have made an imprint such as this. It
suggested a recent removal and a buoyant hope. “The cannon are in the
ravine by the river. I know it! I know it!”
In the confusion attendant upon this sudden outburst they all rose turning
hither and thither, awaiting they hardly knew what in this untoward
mystery of divination or revelation. Making a bull-like rush amongst
them, actually through the fire, Raymond fairly charged upon the
conjurer, felling him to the ground, and ran at full speed out into the air
and down the steep mound.
“Fall in! Fall in!” he cried out to his “zanies” as he went, hearing in a
moment the welcome sound of his own drum beating “the assembly.”
He led the way to the locality where he had seen the track, followed by
all his score of men at a brisk double-quick. In a ravine by the river a
close search resulted in the discovery of the guns ambushed in a sort of
grotto, all now mounted on their carriages. Not so sick were they but that
they could speak aloud, and they shouted lustily when the charges of
blank cartridges issued from their smoking throats. For the giddy young
officer had them dragged up to the bluffs and trained them upon the
“beloved town” of peace itself, and by reason of the Indians’ terror of
artillery hardly five minutes elapsed before Choté was deserted by every
inhabitant.
Raymond found his best capacity enlisted to maintain his authority and
prevent his twenty men flushed with victory, triumphant and riotous with
joy, from pillaging the city of refuge, thus left helpless at their mercy.
But the behests of so high-handed and impetuous a commander were not
to be trifled with, and the troops were soon embarked in the large
pettiaugre belonging to the British government, which chanced to be
lying abandoned at the shore. In this they transported the three guns,
which they fired repeatedly as they rowed up the Tennessee River, with
the echoes bellowing after all along the clifty banks and far through the
dense woods,—effectually discouraging pursuit.
 CHAPTER XIX
W the recoil of the pieces did not sink the old pettiaugre with all on
board, to their imminent danger of drowning in the tumultuous depths of
the spring floods, Captain Howard could never understand, except on the
principle that “Naught is never in danger,” as he said bluffly, now that
his anxiety was satisfied. The heavy rainfall and the melting of the snows
had swollen the watercourses of the region to such a degree that they had
risen out of their deep, rock-bound channels, and this enabled Raymond
to secure water-carriage for the guns the greater part of the return
journey. He had some hardships to relate of a long portage across
country when the pack animals which had carried his supplies and
ammunition had been utilized as artillery horses, and had drawn the guns
along such devious ways as the buffalo paths from one salt spring to
another might furnish. Then they had embarked on the Keowee, and had
come down with a rushing current, firing a salute to Fort Prince George
as they approached, eliciting much responsive cheering from the
garrison, and creating more commotion than they were worth, the
commandant gruffly opined.
He hearkened with a doubtful mien to the ensign’s report of the
vicissitudes of the expedition, and was obviously of the opinion that the
whole mission could have been as well accomplished in a less
melodramatic and turbulent manner.
“I knew,” he said, “that the official demand for the guns would anger the
chiefs, for they have long craved the possession of a few pieces of
artillery, and nothing in their hands could be so dangerous to the security
of the colonies. But I was sure that being in Choté, you were safe, and
that if you should find it necessary to seize the guns they would protect
you against all odds on your march back to Fort Prince George. I did not
imagine the chiefs would venture so far as to conceal the cannon, and of
course that gave you a point of great difficulty. But the feint of firing on
the town was altogether unnecessary. There was no occasion for
incivility.”
“Stop me, sir, if it had not been for their lies and conjuring tricks I should
have been as polite as pie.”
Captain Howard listened with an impartial reservation of opinion to the
detail of the magic red light, but his face changed as Raymond took from
his pocket a gem-like stone, large, translucent, darkly red, and caught
upon it an intense reflection from the dull fire in the commandant’s
office.
“This must be their famous ‘conjuring-stone,’” he said gravely.
“The fellow dropped it when I knocked him down,” Raymond explained,
graphically. “I lost my balance, and we rolled on the ground together,
and as I pulled loose I found this in my hand.”
Early travellers in this region describe this “conjuring-stone” of the
Cherokees as the size of a hen’s egg, red and of a crystalline effect, like a
ruby, but with a beautiful dark shade in the centre, and capable of an
intense reflection of light.
The next day Captain Howard received from the Indians the strange
complaint that the British ensign had their “religion,” with a demand that
he be required to return it. They stated that they had searched all their
country for the sacred amulet, and they were convinced that he had
possessed himself of it. They were robbed of their “religion.”
“This is idolatry,” exclaimed the old missionary, rancorously, vehement
objection eloquent on his face.
“They tried to put my eyes out with their ‘religion,’” declared Raymond.
“They shall not have the amulet back again. They are better off without
such ‘religion.’”
“That is not for you to judge,” said Arabella, staidly.
They were all strolling along the rampart within the stockade after
retreat. The parade was visible on one side with sundry incidents of
garrison life. The posting of sentinels was in progress; a corporal was
going out with the relief, and the echo of their brisk tramp came
marching back from the rocks of the river-bank; the guard, a glitter of
scarlet and steel, was paraded before the main gate. From the long, dark,
barrack building rose now and again the snatch of a soldier’s song, and
presently a chorus of laughter as some barrack wit regaled the leisure of
his comrades. The sunset light was reflected from the glazed windows of
the officers’ quarters; several of the mess had already assembled in their
hall to pass the evening with such kill-time ingenuities as were possible
in the wilderness. Now and again an absentee crossed the parade with
some token of how the day had been passed;—a string of mountain trout
justified the rod and reel of an angler, coming in muddy and wet, and the
envy of another soldier meeting him; at the further end, toward the
stables, a subaltern was training a wild young horse for a hurdle race,
and kept up the leaping back and forth till he “came a cropper,” and his
sore bones admonished him that he had had enough for one day.
The air was soft and sweet; the Keowee River, flush to its brim with the
spring floods, sang a veritable roundelay and vied with the birds. Sunset
seemed to have had scant homing monitions, for wings were yet
continually astir in the blue sky. All the lovely wooded eminences close
about the fort, and the Oconee mountain, and the nearer of the great
Joree ranges, were delicately, ethereally green against the clear
amethystine tone of the mountain background.
And as if to fairly abash and surpass the spring, this dark-eyed, fair-
haired girl herself wore green, of a dainty shadowy tint, and carried over
one arm, swinging by a brown ribbon, a wide-brimmed hat, held basket-
wise, and full of violets, while the wind stirred her tresses to a deeper,
richer glitter in the sunset after-glow. For these violets Raymond had
rifled the woods for fifty miles as he came, and she turned now and again
to them with evident pleasure, sometimes to handle a tuft especially
perfect.
Despite his hopelessness, in view of the impression he had received as to
Mervyn’s place in her good graces, Raymond set a special value on
aught that seemed to commend him. He had greatly enjoyed the pose of a
successful soldier, who had returned from the accomplishment of a
difficult and diplomatic mission. He cared not a sou marqué for the
criticism of several of the other officers of the post who opined that it
was a new interpretation of the idea of diplomacy to train cannon on
commissioners in session and bring off the subject of negotiation amidst
the thunders of artillery. He had felt that it was enough that he was here
again, all in one piece, and so were the cannon,—and he had brought off,
too, it seemed, the “religion” of the Cherokees. He experienced a sudden
reaction from this satisfaction when Arabella turned from the violets, and
pronounced him unfit to judge of the Indian’s religion.
“Why not? I am as good a Christian as anybody,” he averred.
Mervyn at this moment had a certain keenness of aspect, as if he relished
the prospect of a difference. This eagerness might have suggested to
Raymond, but for his own theory on the subject, that the placid
understanding which seemed to him to subsist between Arabella and the
captain-lieutenant was not as perfect as he thought.
The Reverend Mr. Morton paused, with his snuff-box in his hand, to cast
an admonitory glance upon the young ensign.
“There is none good,—no, not one,” he said rebukingly.
He solemnly refreshed his nose with the snuff, although that feature
seemed hardly receptive of any sentiment of satisfaction, so long and
thin it was, so melancholy of aspect, giving the emphasis of asceticism to
his pallid, narrow face, and his near-sighted, absent-minded blue eyes.
“I mean, of course, by ordinary standards, sir. I’m as good a Christian as
Mervyn, or Lawrence, here, or Innis, or—or—the captain,” Raymond
concluded, with a glance of arch audacity at the commandant.
“Hoh!” said Captain Howard, hardly knowing how to take this. He did
not pretend to be a pious man, but it savored of insubordination for a
subaltern to claim spiritual equality with the ranking officer.
“When we are most satisfied with our spiritual condition we have
greatest cause for dissatisfaction,” declared the parson.
With his lean legs encased in thread-bare black breeches and darned
hose,—he had been irreverently dubbed “Shanks” during the earlier days
of his stay at Fort Prince George,—his semi-ludicrous aspect of
cadaverous asceticism and sanctity, so incongruous with the haphazard
conditions of the frontier, it would have been difficult for a casual
observer to discern the reason of the sentiment of respect which he
seemed to command in the minds of these gallant and bluff soldiers.
Their arduous experience of the hard facts of life and the continual
defiance of death had left them but scant appreciation of the fine-spun
sacerdotal theories and subtle divergencies of doctrine in which Mr.
Morton delighted. Seldom did he open his oracular lips save to exploit
some lengthy prelection of rigid dogma or to deliver the prompt rebuke
to profanity or levity, which in the deep gravity of his nature seemed to
him of synonymous signification. He might hardly have noticed the
subject of conversation of the party as he walked by the commandant’s
side along the rampart, but for the word “religion.” He seemed to be
endowed with a separate sense for the apprehension of aught
appertaining to the theme that to him made up all the interest of this
world and the world to come. Therefore he spoke without fear or favor.
His asceticism was not of a pleasing relish, and his rebukes served in no
wise to commend him. It was his fearlessness in a different sense that
had made his name venerated. The rank and file could not have done
with rehearsing, with a gloating eye of mingled pride, and derision, and
pity, how he had driven the gospel home on the Cherokees, in season and
out, they being at his mercy, for by the rigid etiquette of the Indians they
were forbidden to interrupt or break in upon any discourse, however
lengthy or unpalatable. And how he had persisted, albeit his life was not
safe; and how the head-men had finally notified Captain Howard; and
how Captain Howard had remonstrated in vain; and how at last Ensign
Raymond had had the old parson literally brought off in the arms of two
of their own command. It is to be feared that it was neither learning nor
saintliness that so commended the old missionary to the garrison of Fort
Prince George.
Now it seemed that the Cherokees had lost their own religion, if this
amulet represented it, for by their curious racial logic Raymond
possessed its symbol and therefore they no longer had the fact.
“It is a heathen notion that I have got their religion,” protested Raymond.
“They never had any religion.”
“It is religion to them,” said Arabella. “Religion is faith. Religion is a
conviction of the soul.”
“True religion is a revelation to the mind direct from God,” said Mr.
Morton, didactically. “The name doth not befit the hideous pagan follies
of the Indians.”
She did not feel qualified to argue; she only said vaguely with a certain
primness, in contrast with her method of addressing the young men:—
“Faith always seems to me the function of the soul, as reason is of the
mind. You can believe an error, but mistakes are not founded on reason.”
Then she asked him suddenly if the stress that the Cherokees laid on this
amulet did not remind him of the attributes of the ark of the Hebrews and
their despair because of its capture.
“The ark was a type,—a type,” he declared, looking off with unseeing
eyes into the blue and roseate sky and launching out into a dissertation
on the image and the reality, the prophecy and its fulfilment, with many a
digression to a cognate theme, while Captain Howard affected to listen
and went over in his mind his quarter-master’s accounts, the state of the
armament of the fort, and the equipment of the men, all having relation
to the settling of his affairs in quitting his command. The younger people
chatted in low voices under cover of the monologue, it not being directly
addressed to them.
They had slowly strolled along the rampart as they talked, the two
elderly men in the rear, the girl in the centre, with her charming fair-
haired beauty, more ethereal because of that pervasive, tempered, pearly
light which just precedes the dusk, while the young officers, in the
foppery of their red coats, their white breeches, their cocked hats, and
powdered hair, kept on either side. The party made their way out from
the dead salient of the angle, only to be defended by the musketry of
soldiers standing on the banquettes, and ascended the rising ground to
the terre-pleine, where cannon were mounted en barbette to fire above
the parapet.
As Arabella noticed the great guns, standing a-tilt, she said they
reminded her of grim hounds holding their muzzles up to send forth
fierce howls of defiance.
“They can send forth something fiercer than howls,” said Raymond,
applausively. He was a very young soldier, and thought mighty well of
the little cannon. Captain Howard, who had seen war on a fine scale and
was used to forts of commensurate armament, could not repress a
twinkle of the eye, although for no consideration would he have said
aught to put the subaltern out of conceit with his little guns.
The other cannon were pointed through embrasures beneath the parapet.
One of them had been run back on its chassis. She paused beside it, and
stood looking through the large aperture, languid, and silent, and vaguely
wistful, at the scene from a new point of view.
As she lingered thus, all fair-haired in her faint green dress, with her hat
on her arm full of violets, one hand on the silent cannon, she seemed
herself a type of spring, of some benison of peace, of some grave and
tender mediatrix.
The foam was aflash on the rapids of the Keowee River; the sound of its
rush was distinct in the stillness. Now and again the lowing of cattle
came from some distant ranch of pioneer settlers. The Indian town of
Keowee on the opposite side of the river was distinct to view, with its
conical roofs and its great rotunda on a high mound, all recognizable,
despite the reduction of size to the proportions of the landscape of the
distance. No wing was now astir in the pallid, colorless sky. One might
hardly say whence the light emanated, for the sun was down, the twilight
sped, and yet the darkness had not fallen. A sort of gentle clarity
possessed the atmosphere. She noted the line of the parapet of the
covered way, heretofore invisible because of the high stockade, and
beyond still the slope of the glacis, and there—
“What is that?” she said, starting forward, peering through the embrasure
into the gathering gloom. A dark object was visible just beyond the crest
of the glacis. It was without form, vague, opaque, motionless, and of a
consistency impossible to divine.
“Why,—the Indian priests or conjurers,” Mervyn explained. “They have
been there all day.”
“They are called the cheerataghe,—men possessed of divine fire,”
Raymond volunteered.
The captain-lieutenant somewhat resented the amendment of his
explanation. “They are the only people in the world who believe that
Raymond has any religion of any sort.” He laughed with relish and
banteringly.
“Don’t you think that is funny, Mr. Mervyn?” she demanded, her tone a
trifle enigmatical. She did not look at him as she still leaned with one
hand on the cannon, her hat full of violets depending from her arm.
“Vastly amusing, sure,” declared Mervyn,—and Ensign Innis laughed,
too, in the full persuasion of pleasing.
“I can’t see their feathers or bonnets,” she said.
“No,” explained Raymond, “they have their heads covered with the cloth
they weave, and they heap ashes on the cloth.”
“Oh-h-h!” cried out Arabella.
“Watch them,—watch them now,” Raymond said quickly. “They are
heaping the ashes on their heads again.”
There was a strange, undulatory motion among the row of heavily draped
figures, each bending to the right, their hands seeming to wildly wave as
they caught up the invisible ashes before them and strewed them over
their heads, while a low wail broke forth. “And you think this is funny?”
demanded Arabella of the young men, looking at them severally.
“I can’t say I think it is unfunny,” said Innis, with a rollicking laugh.
“I think it is very foolish,” said Lawrence.
“I don’t believe they have lost a religion because I’ve got it in my
pocket,” said Raymond.
“And they are old men—are they?” she asked.
“Old?”—said Mervyn. “Old as Noah.”
“And they have had a long journey?”
“Pounded down here all the way from Choté on their ten old toes.”
“And how long will they stay there, fasting, and praying, and wailing,
and waiting, in sackcloth and ashes?”
“Perhaps till they work some sort of spell on me,” suggested Raymond.
She laughed at this in ridicule.
“Till the fort is evacuated, I suppose,” said Mervyn.
“So long as that!” she exclaimed, growing serious. All at once she caught
her breath with a gasp, staring at the Indians in the gathering gloom, as
with a sudden inspiration.
“I would speak with them!—Oh, la!—what a thing to tell in England!
Take me down there,—quick. Tillie vallie!—there is no water in the
fosse. What a brag to make in Kent! There can be no danger under the
guns of the fort. Lord, papa,—let me go!”
Captain Howard hesitated, but made no demur. The war was over, and
there was indeed no risk; and Arabella’s pilgrimage into primeval realms
would be infinitely embellished by this freak. All of the young officers
accompanied her, the interpreter, hastily summoned, following; the
commandant and the parson watched from the rampart.
She went through the gray dusk like some translucent apparition, the
figment of lines of light. The moon, now in the sky, hardly annulled the
tints of her faint green gown; her hair glittered in the sheen; her face was
ethereally white.
The wailing ceased as her advance was observed. The swaying figures
were still. A vague fear seized her as she came near to those mysterious
veiled creatures, literally abased to the ground. She wavered for a
moment,—then she paused on the crest of the glacis in silence and
evident doubt.
There was an interval of suspense. The odors of violets and dust and
ashes were blended on the air. Dew was falling; the river sang; and the
moon shone brighter as the darkness gathered.
“Good people,” she said, with a sort of agitated, hysteric break in her
clear voice, for she was realizing that she knew not how to address
magnates and priests of a strange alien nation.
The croak of the interpreter came with a harsh promptitude on each
clause.
“Good people, I hear a voice,”—she paused again, and corrected her
phrase,—“I feel a monition—to tell you that your prayers are answered.
Your ‘religion’ I have the power to restore. To-morrow, at the fort, at
high noon, it shall be returned to you. If you help the helpless, and feed
the hungry, and cherish the aged, and show mercy to captives, it will be a
better religion than ever heretofore. I promise,—I pledge my word.”
She wavered anew and shrank back so suddenly that Raymond thought
she might fall. But no! She fled like a deer, her green draperies all
fluttering in the wind, the moonlight on her golden hair and in her
shining eyes. The officers followed, half bewildered by her freak,
Raymond first of all. He overtook her as she was climbing through the
fraise of the steep exterior slope of the rampart, clutching at the sharp
stakes to help her ascent.
“Stop! stop!” he said, catching at her sleeve and pausing to look up
gravely into her eyes as she, laughing, gasping, half-hysterical, looked
down at him standing on the berme below. “Are you in earnest?” he
demanded.
“Yes,—yes,—I shall give back the amulet.”
She seemed hardly to realize that it was his; that he had captured it in a
mêlée; that it was now in his possession; that he had a word in the
matter, a will to be consulted.
“I don’t understand—” he hesitated.
“Oh,—la,—you! You make no difference. I have worked a spell on you,
—as you know!”
She laughed again, caught her breath with a gasp, and began once more
to ascend swiftly through the fraise. But he was beside her in a moment.
He caught her little hand trembling and cold in his.
“Arabella,” he cried, in agitated delight, “you know I worship you,—you
know that you have indeed all my heart,—but only a subaltern,—I hardly
dared to hope—”
“La! you needn’t bestir yourself to hope now! Sure, I didn’t say you had
worked any spell on me.”
Not another word was possible to him, for the others had overtaken
them, and it was in a twitter of laughter that she climbed through the
embrasure, and in a flutter of delighted achievement that she breathlessly
detailed the adventure to her father and the parson. Then hanging on the
commandant’s arm she demurely paced to and fro along the moonlit
rampart, now and again meeting Raymond’s gaze with a coquettish air of
bravado which seemed to say:—
“Talk love to me now,—if you dare!”
The embassy of Indians had disappeared like magic. The party from the
fort declared that upon glancing back at the glacis the row of veiled,
humiliated figures had vanished in the inappreciable interval of time like
a wreath of mist or a puff of dust.
One could hardly say that they returned the next day,—so unlike, so far
alien to the aspect of the humble mourners, who had wept and gnashed
their teeth and wailed in sackcloth and ashes on the glacis of the fort in
the dim dusk, was the splendidly armed and arrayed delegation that high
noon ushered into the main gate. Their coronets of white swan’s feathers,
standing fifteen inches high, with long pendants trailing at the back, rose
out of a soft band of swan’s-down close on the forehead. They wore wide
collars or capes of the same material, and the intense whiteness
heightened the brilliancy of the blotches of decorative paint with which
their faces were mottled. Each had a feather-wrought mantle of iridescent
plumage, the objects of textile beauty so often described by travellers of
that date. They bore the arms of eld, in lieu of the more effective musket,
wearing them as ornaments and to emphasize the fact that they were
needed neither for defence nor aggression. The bows and arrows were
tipped with quartz wrought to a fine polish, and the quivers were covered
with gorgeous embroidery of beads and quills. Their hunting shirts and
leggings were similarly decorated and fringed with tinkling shells. They
were shod with the white buskins cabalistically marked with red to
indicate their calling and rank as “beloved men.” Their number was the
mystic seven. They were all old, one obviously so infirm that the pace of
the others was retarded to permit him to keep in company. They
advanced with much stateliness, and it was evidently an occasion of
great moment in their estimation.
Captain Howard, adopting the policy of the government to fall in with
the Indian ceremonial rather than to seek to force the tribes to other
methods, met them in person, and with some pomp and circumstance
conducted them to the mess-hall in one of the block-houses, as the most
pretentious apartment of the fort. He was an indulgent man when off
duty. He was rather glad, since to his surprise Ensign Raymond had
suddenly declared that he was willing to return the amulet, that the
Indians should have the bauble on which they set so much value, and he
was altogether unmoved by Mr. Morton’s remonstrance that it was a
bargaining with Satan, a recognition of a pagan worship, and a
promotion of witchcraft and conjure work to connive at the restoration of
the red stone to its purpose of delusion.
Inclination fosters an ingenuity of logic. “I am disposed to think the
stone is a symbol—a type of something I do not understand,” Captain
Howard replied; evidently he had absorbed something of Mr. Morton’s
prelections by the sheer force of propinquity, for certainly he had never
intentionally hearkened to them. “You, yourself, have often said the
Cherokees are in no sense idolaters.”
The officers of the post had no scruples. They were all present, grouped
about the walls, welcoming aught that served to break the monotony.
Mrs. Annandale, cynical, inquisitive, scornful, and deeply interested, was
seated in one of the great chairs so placed that she could not fail to see all
of what she contemptuously designated as “the antics.” Norah stood
behind her, wide-eyed and half-frightened, gazing in breathless
amazement at the proceedings. The room was lighted only by the loop-
holes for musketry, looking to the outer sides of the bastion, and the
broadly flaring door, for there was no fire this warm, spring day. The
great chimney-place was filled with masses of pine boughs and glossy
magnolia leaves, to hide its sooty aperture, and on the wide hearth, near
this improvised bower, stood Arabella, looking on, a pleased spectator,
as Raymond advanced to the table in the centre of the floor, and laid
upon it the great red stone, which shone in the shadowy place with a
translucent lustre that might well justify its supernatural repute. The
interpreter repeated the courteous phrases in which Ensign Raymond
stated that he took pleasure in returning this object of beauty and value
which had by accident fallen into his possession.
His words were received in dead silence. The Indians absolutely ignored
him. They looked through him, beyond him, never at him. He had been
the cause of much anguish of soul, and the impulse of forgiveness is
foreign to such generosity of spirit as is predicable of the savage.
A moment of suspense ensued. Then the tallest, the stateliest of the
Indians reached forth his hand, took the amulet, passed it to a colleague,
who in his turn passed it to another, and in the continual transfer its trail
was lost and the keenest observer could not say at length who was the
custodian of the treasure.
Another moment of blank expectancy. There were always these barren
intervals in the leisurely progress of Indian diplomacy. The interview
seemed at an end. The next incident might be the silent filing out of the
embassy and their swift, noiseless departure.
Suddenly the leader took from one of the others a small bowl of their
curious pottery. It was full of fragrant green herbs which had been
drenched in clear water, for as he held them up the crystal drops fell from
them. There was a hush of amazed expectancy as he advanced toward
the young lady. With an inspired mien and a sonorous voice he cried,
casting up his eyes, “Higayuli Tsunega!”
“Oh, supreme white Fire!” echoed the interpreter.
“Sakani udunuhi nigesuna usinuliyu! Yu!”
“Grant that she may never become unhappy! Yu!”
Then lifting the fresh leafage aloft, the cheerataghe, with a solemn
gesture, sprinkled the water into her astounded face.
“Safe! Safe!” the interpreter continued to translate his words. “Safe
forever! She and hers can never know harm in the land of the Cherokee.
Not even a spirit of the air may molest her; no ghost of the departed may
haunt her sleep; not the shadow of a bird can fall upon her; no vagrant
witch can touch her with malign influence.”
“Ha-usinuli nagwa ditsakuni denatlu hisaniga uy-igawasti dudanti!”
declared the cheerataghe.
“We have keenly aimed our arrows against the accursed wanderers of
darkness!” chanted the interpreter.
“Nigagi! Nigagi!”
“Amen! Amen!”
A breathless silence ensued. No word. No stir. The amazement depicted
on the faces of the staring officers, the dubitation intimated in Captain
Howard’s corrugated, bushy eye-brows, the perplexity in Mrs.
Annandale’s eagerly observant, meagre little countenance, were as
definite a comment as if voiced in words. This was all caviare indeed to
their habits of mind, accustomed as they were to the consideration of
material interests and the antagonisms of flesh and blood. But the pale
ascetic face of the old missionary was kindled with a responsive glow
that was like the shining of a flame through an alabaster vase, so pure, so
exalted, so vivid an illumination it expressed, so perfect a comprehension
this spark of symbolism had ignited.
As a type of covenant the suggestions afforded by this incident occupied
several learned pages of Mr. Morton’s recondite work on “Baptism in its
Various Forms in Antient and Modern Times,” published some years
afterward, a subject which gratefully repays amplification and is
susceptible of infinite speculation. The peculiar interest which the
occasion developed for him served to annul the qualms of conscience
which he had suffered, despite which, however, instigated by the old
Adam of curiosity, he had permitted himself to be present at the
restoration of the conjuring-stone to its mission of delusion.
A mention of the amulet as a “lost religion” was the next moment on the
lips of the interpreter, echoing the rhetorical periods of Yachtino, the
chief of Chilhowee, who had stepped forward and was speaking with a
forceful dignity of gesture and the highly aspirated, greatly diversified
intonations of the Cherokee language, illustrating its vaunted capacity for
eloquent expressiveness, and affording the group a signal opportunity of
judging of the grace of oratory for which these Indians were then
famous.
The gratitude of the Indians, the spokesman declared, was not to be
measured by gifts. Not in recognition of her beneficence, not in return
for her kindness,—for kindness cannot be bought or repaid, and they
were her debtors forever,—but as a matter of barter the Cherokee nation
bestowed upon her their pearl, the “sleeping sun,” in exchange for the
amulet which she had caused to be returned by the ruthless soldier.
Forthwith the chief of Chilhowee laid upon the table the beautiful fresh-
water pearl which Raymond had seen at Cowetchee.
Heedless of all the subtler significance of the ceremony, and, under the
British flag, caring naught for the vaunted puissance of Cherokee
protection against the seen and the unseen, the astonished and delighted
young beauty gazed speechless after the embassy, for their grotesquely
splendid figures had disappeared as silently as the images of a dream,
feeling that the reward was altogether out of proportion with the
simplicity of the kindly impulse that had actuated her girlish heart.
Because they were very old and savage, and, as she thought, very poor,
and were agonized for a boon which in their ignorance they craved as
dear and sacred, she had exerted the influence she knew she possessed to
restore to them this trifle, this bauble,—and here in her hand the tear of
compassion, as it were, was metamorphosed into a gem such as she had
never before beheld.
Mounted by a London jeweller between prongs set with diamonds it was
famous in her circle for its size and beauty, and regarded as a curio it
could out-vie all Kent. She long remembered the Cherokee words which
described it, and she entertained a sort of regretful reminiscence of Fort
Prince George, soon dismantled and fallen into decay, where the spring
had come so laden with beauty and charm, and with incidents of such
strange interest.
Mrs. Annandale also remembered it regretfully, and with a bitter, oft-
reiterated wish that Arabella had never seen the little stronghold or the
officers of its garrison. She used her utmost endeavors against
Raymond’s suit, but threats, persuasion, appeals, were vain with
Arabella. She had made her choice, and she would not depart from it.
Her heart was fixed, and not even the reproach to which her generous
temper rendered her most susceptible,—that she had caused pain and
unhappiness to Mervyn, encouraging him to cherish unfounded hopes,—
moved her in the least. She reminded them both that she had warned him
he must not presume on her qualified assent as a finality; she had always
feared she did not love him, and now she knew it was impossible.
“I can’t imagine how Ensign Raymond had the opportunity to interfere,”
Mrs. Annandale said wofully to her brother in one of their many
conferences on the unexpected turn of the romance the match-maker had
fostered. “I am sure I never gave him the opportunity to make love to
her; it was dishonorable in him to introduce the subject of love when he
knew of her engagement.”
“He did not introduce the subject of love,” said Arabella, remembering
the scene in the fraise above the scarp, and laughing shyly. “I, myself,
spoke first of love.”
Then awed by her aunt’s expression of horror and offended propriety, she
added demurely:—
“It must have been the influence of that amulet. He had it then. They say
it bestows on its possessor his own best good.”
Captain Howard also remembered Fort Prince George regretfully, and
also with a vague wish that she had never seen the little stronghold. He
was not exactly discontented with Raymond as a son-in-law, but this was
not his preference, for he had advocated her acceptance of Mervyn’s suit.
His own limited patrimony lay adjoining the Mervyn estate, and he
thought the propinquity a mutual advantage to the prospects of the two
young people, and that it materially enhanced Arabella’s position as a
suitable match for the Mervyn heir. The succeeding baronet was a steady
conventional fellow, and had been very well thought of in the regiment
before he sold out upon coming into his title and fortune. Raymond
would be obliged to stick to the army, having but small means, and he
would doubtless do well if he could be kept within bounds.
“But,” Captain Howard qualified, describing the absent soldier to an
intimate friend and country neighbor in Kent, over the post-prandial
wine and walnuts,—“but he is such a frisky dare-devil! If he could be
scared half to death by somebody it would tame him, and be the making
of him.”
In a few years it might have seemed that this had been compassed, for it
was said that Raymond was afraid of his lovely wife. He was obviously
so solicitous of her approval, he considered her judgment of such
peculiar worth, and he thought her so “monstrous clever,” that when
impervious to all other admonitions, he could be reached, advised,
warned, through her influence.
When he became a personage of note, for in those days of many wars he
soon rose to eminence, and it was desired to flatter, or court, or conciliate
him, a difficult feat, for he was absolutely without vanity for his own
sake, it was understood that there was one secure road to his favorable
consideration,—he was never insensible to admiration of his wife’s
linguistic accomplishments, which included among more useful tongues,
the unique acquisition of something of the Cherokee language. Then,
too, he was always attentive and softened by any comment, in some
intimate coterie, upon the jewel, now called a pendant, which, hanging
by a slender chain, rose and fell on a bosom as delicately white as the
gem itself. The great pearl was associated with the most cherished
sentiments of his life, his love and his pride in his professional career,—
with the inauguration of his dear and lasting romance, and his first
independent command. With a tender reminiscent smile on his war-worn
face, he would ask her to repeat the word for the moon in the several
dialects, and would listen with an unwearied ear as she rehearsed her
spirited story of the “sleeping sun,” and the method of its barter for the
amulet.
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR

THE STORM CENTRE

A NOVEL
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THE STORY OF OLD FORT LOUDON

A tale of the Cherokees and the Pioneers of Tennessee, 1760
With Illustrations by E. C. Peixotto
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fortunes at the hands of the Cherokees in the uprising of 1760.
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CONISTON
By WINSTON CHURCHILL
Author of “R C ,” “T C ,” “T
C ,” etc.
 With Illustrations by Florence Scovel Shinn
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made an exquisite picture you must read to see. It is like a
dainty water-color portrait, delicious in itself even if it were
not true; but to its truth there will rise up a crowd of
witnesses.”—By a Southern contributor to The Record-
Herald, Chicago.

RECENT FICTION

THE VINE OF SIBMAH

A RELATION OF THE PURITANS
By ANDREW MACPHAIL
Author of “Essays in Puritanism”
Illustrated Cloth 12mo
$1.50
Mr. Andrew Macphail has created a novel out of the life in
which he is specially versed—that of the Puritans of Old and
New England. Puritan theologians and Puritan pirates, Jesuits,
Quakers, soldiers and savages, with their religions, their hates
and their loves, are among the characters of this book. The
novel is a reading of the “eternal thesis of love” as it was
written in 1662 around the lives of a valiant soldier and a
winsome woman.

THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I

By BARBARA
Author of “The Garden of a Commuter’s Wife,” “People of
the Whirlpool,” etc., etc.
Illustrated Cloth 12mo
$1.50
The author of “The Garden of a Commuter’s Wife” has
returned to her first theme; and those who revelled in that
book will welcome the outdoor volume promised for this
spring under the intimate title of “The Garden, You, and I.”
Herein is the wholesome flow of good-humor and keen
observation that have always been among the charms of
“Barbara’s” writings.

IF YOUTH BUT KNEW

By AGNES AND EGERTON CASTLE
Authors of “T P J ,” etc.
With illustrations by Launcelot Speed
Cloth 12mo $1.50
“The story shows that rare combination of poetic tenderness
and romantic adventure which is the unfailing charm of the
fiction of these authors.”—Chicago Record-Herald.
“They should be the most delightful of comrades, for their
writing is so apt, so responsive, so joyous, so saturated with
the promptings and the glamour of spring. It is because ‘If
Youth But Knew’ has all these adorable qualities that it is so
fascinating.”—Cleveland Leader.

THE WAY OF THE GODS

By JOHN LUTHER LONG
Author of “M B ,” “H ,” etc.
Cloth 12mo $1.50
“The Way of the Gods,” a new novel by John Luther Long, is
laid in the beautiful land of “Madame Butterfly,” and in the
heart of the Lady Hoshiko, Dream-of-a-Star. She is laved in
the joy and sorrow and mystery of the East, where Mr. Long
is more than anywhere else at home. Before her opens the
possibility of a brief life of intense joy with a samurai pledged
to the great red death for the emperor; this brief life, if she
takes it, must be bought with an eternity of pain.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
 TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been
standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
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