come not from pandering
to popular demand or editorial policy, but from pandering to my own
inner convictions, which are like little soul-tapers, lighting the way."

All her work has been in the form of the short story. Her first book,
_Just Around the Corner_, published in 1914, is a collection of stories
dealing with the life of working girls in a city. _Every Soul Hath Its
Song_ is a similar collection; the title suggests the author's outlook
upon life. Some one has said that in looking at a puddle of water, you
may see either the mud at the bottom or the sky reflected on its
surface. Miss Hurst sees the reflection of the sky. The _Boston
Transcript_ said of this book: "Here at last is a story writer who is
bent on listening to the voices of America and interpreting them."
_Gaslight Sonatas_, from which "Bitter-Sweet" is taken, showed an
advance over her earlier work. Two of the stories from this volume were
selected by Mr. O'Brien for his volume, _Best Short Stories_, for 1916
and 1917. _Humoresque_, her latest work, continues her studies of city
types, drawn from New York and St. Louis. The stories show her insight
into character and her graphic descriptive power. Miss Hurst is also the
author of two plays, _The Land of the Free_ and _The Good Provider_.

IN THE LUMBER COUNTRY

_The men of the woods are not as the men of the cities. The great open
spaces where men battle with the primeval forest set their mark upon
their inhabitants, not only in physique but in character. The
lumberman,--rough, frank, independent, humorous, equally ready for a
fight or a frolic, has been portrayed at full length by Stewart Edward
White in_ THE BLAZED TRAIL _and_ THE RIVERMAN. _In the following sketch,
taken from his_ BLAZED TRAIL STORIES, _he shows the lumberman at work
and at play._

THE RIVERMAN

BY

STEWART EDWARD WHITE

I first met him one Fourth of July afternoon in the middle eighties. The
sawdust streets and high board sidewalks of the lumber town were filled
to the brim with people. The permanent population, dressed in the
stiffness of its Sunday best, escorted gingham wives or sweethearts; a
dozen outsiders like myself tried not to be too conspicuous in a city
smartness; but the great multitude was composed of the men of the woods.
I sat, chair-tilted by the hotel, watching them pass. Their heavy
woollen shirts crossed by the broad suspenders, the red of their sashes
or leather shine of their belts,