With an Appreciation by Wilfred T. Grenfell, M.D.
The Siren of Scalawag Run
The Art of Terry Lute
The Doctor of Afternoon Arm
A Crsus of Gingerbread Cove
A Madonna of Tinkle Tickle
The Little Nipper o' Hide-an'-Seek Harbor
Small Sam Small
An Idyl of Rickity Tickle
nce, an interval for reflection, an opportunity to search her heart and be sure of its decision. If, then, she had communicated that decision to her mother, according to her promise to communicate it to somebody, and if the telegram contained news of no more consequence, a good man might command his patience, might indulge in a reasonable caution, might hesitate on the brink of Black Cliff with the sanction of his self-respect. But if Elizabeth Luke lay ill and in need, a passage of Scalawag Run might be challenged, whatever came of it. And both Tommy Lark and Sandy Rowl knew it well enough.
Tommy Lark and Sandy Rowl, on the return from Bottom Harbor to Scalawag Run, had come to Point-o'-Bay Cove, where they were to lie the night. They were accosted in haste by the telegraph operator.
"Are you men from Scalawag?" she inquired.
She was a brisk, trim young woman from St. John's, new to the occupation, whose administration of the telegraph office was determined and exact.
"We is, ma'a
Sensible, extraordinary yarn about life in the cold north. If you like Jack London, try this for a change.