BARNABY
A NOVEL
BY
R. RAMSAY
AUTHOR OF "THE KEY OF THE DOOR," "THE STRAW," ETC.
London: HUTCHINSON & CO.
Paternoster Row
1910
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
In Cloth Gilt, 6s.
THE KEY OF THE DOOR
"The story fascinates; it contains some of the best descriptions offox-hunting we have met with, and there is a crispness in thedelineation of all the characters which proves that the author is nocommonplace dabbler in fiction."—Pall Mall Gazette.
"One of the most humorous and lively books that have appeared thisyear. It contains some fine descriptions of hunting, and a vividpicture of county society. The whole book is written with vivacity anddash."—Country Life.
"Told with a literary skill and a mature judgment which promise wellfor future work from the author."—Times.
THE STRAW
"Miss R. Ramsay has written but two novels, but if her future workfulfils the promise of these, or even maintains their standard, herpublic should be large and enthusiastic. She describes fox-huntingfrom the true sportsman's point of view, but with a dashing vivacityand humour. There is rare matter in even the best of contemporarysporting novels, but there is more in Miss Ramsay's. There is no doubtthat Miss Ramsay possesses exceptional literary gifts."—Gentlewoman.
"It is a jovial story, vigorously and vivaciously written. The book isinvigorating, fresh, and quite excellent in its descriptions of huntingscenes, hunting country, and hunting weather."—Manchester Guardian.
"This story, briskly written, has plenty of exhilarating pictures ofthe hunting field in its lively course. It has plenty of fresh, breezyhumour in the delineation of people who hunt, is clever inconstruction, and written with a literary skill that keeps the storyalways going."—Scotsman.
TO THE MEMORY OF
MY FATHER
The lamp flickered and jumped at the stamping in the bar.
There was a frantic quality in that noise, laughter and exclamationmixed with a wild shouting that made the crazy partition quiver. Itwas a mad reaction from the common weight of despair.
From the bed in the room behind you could watch the door....
Paradise Town was a broken link in the chain of civilization; it mighthave been written in letters of rusted blood on the map. Its pioneershad forsaken it cursing, its trees had been burned for firewood, itsearth had been riddled in vain for gold. All that was left of it washuddled near the shanty where men could buy drink and blur the spell ofawful loneliness that shut them away from life. It was worse at night.With the darkness fell a heavier sense of the distance of human help,and Paradise was an island in a black sea of haunted land. East andwest, wide and silent, the unknown emptiness lapped it in.
Ill-luck and some bitter trick had stranded the M'Kune Tragedy Companyin this dreadful place. Night after night they played in a shingle hutwith their useless scenery stacked outside; night after night M'Kunebroke it to his scared company that they hadn't yet g