FATE 271

_Thirty_: THE RETURN OF ZORA 283

_Thirty-one_: A PARTING OF WAYS 293

_Thirty-two_: ZORA'S WAY 309

_Thirty-three_: THE BUYING OF THE SWAMP 316

_Thirty-four_: THE RETURN OF ALWYN 328

_Thirty-five_: THE COTTON MILL 339

_Thirty-six_: THE LAND 350

_Thirty-seven_: THE MOB 364

_Thirty-eight_: ATONEMENT 371

THE QUEST OF THE SILVER FLEECE

TO ONE

whose name may not be written but to whose tireless
faith the shaping of these cruder thoughts to forms
more fitly perfect is doubtless due, this
finished work is herewith dedicated

_Note_

He who would tell a tale must look toward three ideals: to tell it well,
to tell it beautifully, and to tell the truth.

The first is the Gift of God, the second is the Vision of Genius, but
the third is the Reward of Honesty.

In _The Quest of the Silver Fleece_ there is little, I ween, divine or
ingenious; but, at least, I have been honest. In no fact or picture have
I consciously set down aught the counterpart of which I have not seen or
known; and whatever the finished picture may lack of completeness, this
lack is due now to the story-teller, now to the artist, but never to the
herald of the Truth.

NEW YORK CITY

_August 15, 1911_

THE AUTHOR

_One_

DREAMS

Night fell. The red waters of the swamp grew sinister and sullen. The
tall pines lost their slimness and stood in wide blurred blotches all
across the way, and a great shadowy bird arose, wheeled and melted,
murmuring, into the black-green sky.

The boy wearily dropped his heavy bundle and stood still, listening as
the voice of crickets split the shadows and made the silence audible. A
tear wandered down his brown cheek. They were at supper now, he
whispered--the father and old mother, away back yonder beyond the night.
They were far away; they would never be as near as once they had been,
for he had stepped into the world. And the cat and Old Billy--ah, but
the world was a lonely thing, so wide and tall and empty! And so bare,
so bitter bare! Somehow he had never dreamed of the world as lonely
before; he had fared forth to beckoning hands and luring, and to the
eager hum of human voices, as of some great, swelling music.

Yet now he was alon