Faces in the Dawn

pened to His Spectacles , . I 13 In Which Many Candles Are Lighted on a Christmas Tree, and Elsewhere . . . 123 In Which a Dream-come-to-life Meets the Ogre at a Crossroads and Points Him the Way , , . . . . . . . . . . 153 In 1 Vhich the Ogre Regards Himself in the Looking-glass . , . , . . . . . 170 In Which the Melancholy Personage Buckles on Hcr Broadsword and Goes to Battle, to the Discomfiture of Everybody . , 180 In Which the Ogre Rarely Escapes Devour ing His Own Child and Bccorncs Properly Humble Forthwith . . , . . . . . zoq vii ... In Which the Ogre Forgets Himself and Ac quires Merit . . . . , , . . 225 XIV. In Which Four Fricnds Fear for Their China ware . . . . , . . , . . . . 234 XV. In Which the Ogres Wife Wins Strength from the Everlasting Arms and Delves in the Archives . . . . . . . - 249 XVI. In Which the 31clancholy Personage Makes a Disconcerting Discovery and a Conscien tious Arnazon a Promise . . . . - 273 XVII. In Which a Drunkards Whistle Raises the Devil, Lays a Ghost and Ends z. Rebellion 279 XVIII. In Which, as in All Good Romances, There Is Marrying and Giving in Marriage . 307 pastor in Wenkendorf, laid down his pen with a deep sigh that spelt somewhat ex haustion, somewhat relief and very largely self-pity and, picking up the mass of closely written sheets, read over his sermon. It evidently neither pleased nor displeased him. It was the customary disser tation on the birth of Christ which he had delivered, with negligible changes, Christmas after Christmas for ten years, a not very learned examination of Isaiah and the other Prophets, Major and Minor, for intimations of the Saviour. There were quotations by the dozen, which his congregation, know ing nothing of concordances, always looked upon as evidences of incredible erudition, and rolling out bursts here and there which sounded impressive, but unfortunately meant nothing at all. The pastor read these over twice, half aloud, hypnotized by their sound, then laid the sheets down with another sigh and took off his heavy spectacles. Esperanza called the pastor of Wenkendorf. There was no answer-only the whimpering sob of a child in the next room, drowned a second later by the clatter of dishes the whimper again, more like a cry this time silence, and a gust outside blow ing the gritty snow against the window-panes. The pas tor frowned. Esperanza, I called you Esperanza I he cried again. A boy of four, balancing himself on a chair be side him, failed to keep the carefully planned equi librium, and came crashing to the floor. A howl arose, a howl of pain and indignant wrath, that started a sympathetic flow of tears from a threeyear-old in ambush under the pastors writing table. The pastor picked up the boy by the collar af his dirty dress, which turned the howl to a wail of pierc ing clamor long drawn out, with cadences like a barbaric chant... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.