Eben Holden, a tale of the north country
Eben Holden a Tale of the North Country by Irving Bacheller PREFACE Early in the last century the hardy wood-choppers began to come west, out of Vermont. They founded their homes in the Adirondack wildernesses and cleared their rough acres with the axe and the charcoal pit. After years of toil in a rigorous climate they left their sons little besides a stumpy farm and a coon-skin overcoat. Far from the centres of life their amusements, their humours, their religion, their folk lore, their views of things had in them the flavour of the timber lands, the simplicity of childhood. Every son was nurtured in the love of honour and of industry, and the hope of sometime being president. It is to be feared this latter thing and the love of right living, for its own sake, were more in their thoughts than the immortal crown that had been the
recognize.
"No," he answered frankly. "That's honest. I thought you were
somewhere in Brittany. But are you bound anywhere in particular?"
"Only home."
"Still living on the Boulevard Saint-Germain?"
She nodded.
"Number forty-three?"
He was glad he was able to remember that number.
"Number sixty-four," she corrected.
They had been moving toward the Metro station, and here she paused.
"There is no need for you to come with me," she said. "But I'd like to
have you drop in for tea some afternoon--if you have time."
The strangers were still hurrying past him--to the north, the south,
the east, the west. Men and women were hurrying past, laughing, intent
upon themselves, each with some definite objective in mind. He himself
was able to smile with them now. Then she held out her gloved hand,
Eben Holden a Tale of the North Country by Irving Bacheller PREFACE Early in the last century the hardy wood-choppers began to come west, out of Vermont. They founded their homes in the Adirondack wildernesses and cleared their rough acres with the axe and the charcoal pit. After years of toil in a rigorous climate they left their sons little besides a stumpy farm and a coon-skin overcoat. Far from the centres of life their amusements, their humours, their religion, their folk lore, their views of things had in them the flavour of the timber lands, the simplicity of childhood. Every son was nurtured in the love of honour and of industry, and the hope of sometime being president. It is to be feared this latter thing and the love of right living, for its own sake, were more in their thoughts than the immortal crown that had been the