de unendurable by a thousand petty cares?
Are the heart and soul of you cast down by bitter disappointment? Would
you leave it all, if only for an hour, and come back with a new point of
view? Then open the covers of a book.

With this gentle comrade, you may journey to the very end of the world
and even to the beginning of civilisation. There is no land which you
may not visit, from Arctic snows to the loftiest peaks of southern
mountains. Gallant gentlemen will go with you and tell you how to
appreciate what you see. Further still, there are excursions into the
boundless regions of imagination, where the light of dreams has laid its
surpassing beauty over all.

Would you wander in company with soldiers of Fortune, and share their
wonderful adventures? Would you live in the time of the Crusades and
undertake a pilgrimage in the name of the Cross? Would you smell the
smoke of battle, hear the ring of steel, the rattle of musketry, and see
the colours break into deathly beauty well in advance of the charge?
Would you have for your friends a great company of noble men and women
who have wrought and suffered and triumphed in the end? Would you find
new courage, stronger faith, and serene hope? Then open the covers of a
book, and presto--change!

* * * * *

"Iris," called Aunt Peace, "you're surely not going without your hat?"

"Of course not." The colour that came and went in her damask cheeks was
very like that in her pink dimity gown. She put on her white hat, the
brim drooping beneath its burden of pink roses, and drew her gloves
reluctantly over her dimpled hands.

"Iris, dear, your sunshade!"

"Yes, Aunt Peace." She came back, a little unwillingly, but tan was a
personal disgrace in East Lancaster.

Ready at last, she tripped down the path and closed the gate carefully.
Mrs. Irving waved a friendly hand at her from the upper window. "Bring
me a letter!" she called.

"I'll try to," answered Iris, "but I can't promise."

She lifted her gown a little, to keep it clear of burr and brier, and
one saw the smooth, black silk stocking, chastely embroidered at the
ankle, as one suspected, by the hand of the wearer, and the dainty,
high-heeled shoes. The sunshade waved back and forth coquettishly. It
seemed to be an airy ornament, rather than an article of utility.

Half-way down the street, she met Doctor Brinkerhoff. "Good morning,
little lady," he said, with a smile.

"Good morni