The iron folk, the pioneers free-born.

Make me to voice the tall men in the corn.

Let boyhood’s wildflower days a bright fruit yield.

Scourge me, a slave that brings unhallowed praise

To you, stern Virgin in this church so sweet

If I desert the ways wherein my feet

Were set by Heaven, in prenatal days.

THE OLD GENTLEMAN WITH THE
LANTERN (AND THE PEOPLE OF
HIS HOUSEHOLD)

I
The Savage Necklace

The reader need not expect this book to contain any nicely adjusted plot with a villain, hero, lawyer, papers, surprise, and happy ending. The highway is irrelevant. The highway is slipshod. The highway is as the necklace of a gipsy or an Indian, a savage string of pebbles and precious stones, no two alike, with an occasional trumpery suspender button or peach seed. Every diamond is in the rough.