Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
1915
X SYLVIA'S FIRST GLIMPSE OF MODERN CIVILIZATION
XI ARNOLD'S FUTURE Is CASUALLY DECIDED
XII ONE MAN'S MEAT
XIII AN INSTRUMENT IN TUNE
XIV HIGHER EDUCATION
XV MRS. DRAPER BLOWS THE COALS
XVI PLAYING WITH MATCHES
XVII MRS. MARSHALL STICKS TO HER PRINCIPLES
XVIII SYLVIA SKATES MERRILY ON THIN ICE
XIX AS A BIRD OUT OF A SNARE
XX "BLOW, WIND; SWELL, BILLOW; AND SWIM, BARK!"
XXI SOME YEARS DURING WHICH NOTHING HAPPENS
XXII A GRATEFUL CARTHAGINIAN
XXIII MORE TALK BETWEEN YOUNG MODERNS
XXIV ANOTHER BRAND OF MODERN TALK
XXV NOTHING IN THE LEAST MODERN
XXVI MOLLY IN HER ELEMENT
XXVII BETWEEN WINDWARD AND HEMLOCK MOUNTAINS
XXVIII SYLVIA ASKS HERSELF "WHY NOT?"
XXIX A HYPOTHETICAL LIVELIHOOD
XXX ARNOLD CONTINUES TO DODGE THE RENAISSANCE
XXXI SYLVIA MEETS WITH PITY
XXXII MUCH ADO
XXXIII "WHOM GOD HATH JOINED…"
XXXIV SYLVIA TELLS THE TRUTH
XXXV "A MILESTONE PASSED, THE ROAD SEEMS CLEAR"
XXXVI THE ROAD IS NOT SO CLEAR
XXXVII "… His wife and children perceiving it, began
to cry after him to return; but the man put his
fingers in his ears and ran on, crying, 'Life!
Life Eternal!'"
XXXVIII SYLVIA COMES TO THE WICKET GATE
XXXIX SYLVIA DRIFTS WITH THE MAJORITY
XL A CALL FROM HOME
XLI HOME AGAIN
XLII "Strange that we creatures of the petty ways,
Poor prisoners behind these fleshly bars,
Can sometimes think us thoughts with God ablaze,
Touching the fringes of the outer stars"
XLIII "Call now; is there any that will answer thee?"
XLIV "A bruised reed will He not break, and a dimly
burning wick will He not quench"
XLV "That our soul may swim
We sink our heart down, bubbling, under wave"
XLVI A LONG TALK WITH ARNOLD
XLVII "…AND ALL THE TRUMPETS SOUNDED!"
Like most happy childhoods, Sylvia's early years lay back of her in along, cheerful procession of featureless days, the outlines of whichwere blurred into one shimmering glow by the very radiance of theirsunshine. Here and there she remembered patches, sensations, pictures,scents: Mother holding baby sister up for her to kiss, and thefragrance of the baby powder—the pine-trees near the house chantingloudly in an autumn wind—her father's alert face, intent on thetoy water-wheel he was setting for her in the little creek in theirfield—the b