Berna, I love you always. Out of the night I cry to you, Berna, the cry of a broken heart. Is it your little, pitiful ghost that comes down to me? Oh, I am waiting, waiting! Here will I wait, Berna, till we meet once more. For meet we will, beyond the mists, beyond the dreaming, at last, dear love, at last.
CONTENTS
ILLUSTRATIONS
| We were in a caldron of fire. The roar of doom was in our ears (page 143) | [Frontispiece] |
| FACING PAGE | |
| "No," she said firmly, "you can't see the girl" | [116] |
| Then, as I hung half in, half out of the window, he clutched me by the throat | [316] |
| "Garry," I said, "this is—this is Berna" | [476] |
|
This is the law of the Yukon, and ever she makes it plain: "Send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane. Strong for the red rage of battle; sane, for I harry them sore; Send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core; Swift as the panther in triumph, fierce as the bear in defeat, Sired of a bulldog parent, steeled in the furnace heat. Send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones; Them will I take to my bosom, them will I call my sons; Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat; But the others—the misfits, the failures—I trample under my feet." |
| —"Songs of a Sourdough." |