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The Floating Press - Watson Rankin Carroll

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114 pages

English

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Fall into a bygone world with The Cinder Pond from celebrated juvenile fiction author Carroll Watson Rankin. Set in Michigan, the novel follows protagonist Jeannette Huntington Duval as she leaves her struggling family to live with affluent relatives for several years. Will she be able to bridge the class gap and thrive in this starkly different environment? The Cinder Pond is a gratifying read that fans of books like Anne of Green Gables and Pollyanna will definitely enjoy.

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Children's

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 novembre 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775454540
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

THE CINDER POND
* * *
CARROLL WATSON RANKIN

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The Cinder Pond First published in 1915 ISBN 978-1-77545-454-0 © 2011 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I - The Accident Chapter II - Part of the Truth Chapter III - Jeannette's Queer Family Chapter IV - What was in an Old Trunk Chapter V - The Sewing Lesson Chapter VI - Mollie Chapter VII - A Matter of Coats Chapter VIII - A Shopping Expedition Chapter IX - The Flight Chapter X - The Arrival Chapter XI - A New Life Chapter XII - A Helpful Grandfather Chapter XIII - Banished Friends Chapter XIV - At Four A.M. Chapter XV - Allen Rossiter Chapter XVI - An Old Album Chapter XVII - A Lonely Summer Chapter XVIII - A Thunderbolt Chapter XIX - With the Rossiters Chapter XX - A Missing Family Chapter XXI - Old Captain's News Chapter XXII - Roger's Razor Chapter XXIII - A New Friend for Jeanne Chapter XXIV - Mollie's Babies Chapter XXV - The House of Dreams Chapter XXVI - A Padlocked Door Chapter XXVII - The Pink Present A Month Later
Chapter I - The Accident
*
The slim dark girl, with big black eyes, rushed to the edge of thecrumbling wharf, where she dropped to her hands and knees to peereagerly into the green depths below.
There was reason for haste. Only a second before, the very best suit ofboys' clothing in Bancroft had tumbled suddenly over the edge to hit thewater with a most terrific splash. Now, there was a wide circle on thesurface, with bubbles coming up.
It was an excellent suit of clothes that went into the lake. Navy-blueserge, fashioned by Bancroft's best tailor to fit Roger Fairchild, whowas much too plump for ready-made clothes. But here were those costlygarments at the very bottom of Lake Superior; not in the very deepestpart, fortunately, but deep enough. And that was not all. Their youthfulowner was inside them.
That morning when Jeannette, eldest daughter of Léon Duval, tumbled outof the rumpled bed that she shared with her stepsister, the day hadseemed just like any other day. It was to prove, as you may haveguessed, quite different from the ordinary run of days. In the firstplace, it was pleasant; the first really mild day, after months of coldweather. In the second place, things were to happen. Of course, thingshappened every day; but then, most things, like breakfast, dinner, andsupper, have a way of happening over and over again. But it isn't everyday that a really, truly adventure plunges, as it were, right into one'sown front yard.
To be sure, Jeanne's front yard invited adventures. It was quitedifferent from any other front yard in Bancroft. It was large and wetand blue; and big enough to show on any map of the Western Hemisphere.Nothing less, indeed, than Lake Superior. Her side yard, too, wasanother big piece of the same lake. The rest of her yard, except whatwas Cinder Pond, was dock.
In order to understand the adventure; and, indeed, all the rest of thisstory, you must have a clear picture of Jeanne's queer home; for it was a queer home for even the daughter of a fisherman. You see, theDuvals had lived on dry land as long as they were able (which was notvery long) to pay rent. When there were no more landlords willing towait forever for their rent-money, the impecunious family moved to anold scow anchored in shallow water near an abandoned wharf. After atime, the scow-owner needed his property but not the family that was onit. The Duvals were forced to seek other shelter. Happily, they found itnear at hand.
Once on a time, ever so far back in the history of Bancroft, thebiggest, busiest, and reddest of brick furnaces, in that region of ironand iron mines, had poured forth volumes of thick black smoke. It waslocated right at the water's edge, on a solid stone foundation. From it,a clean new wooden wharf extended southward for three hundred feet, eastfor nine hundred feet, north for enough more feet to touch the landagain. This wharf formed three sides of a huge oblong pond. The shoremade the fourth side. The shallow water inside this inclosure becameknown, in time, as "The Cinder Pond."
After twenty years of activity, the furnace, with the exception of thehuge smoke-stack, was destroyed by fire. After that, there was nofurther use for the wharf. Originally built of huge cribs filled withstone, planked over with heavy timbers, it became covered, in time,first with fine black cinders, then with soil. As it grew less useful,it became more picturesque, as things sometimes do.
By the time the Duvals helped themselves to the old wharf, much of itssoft black surface was broken out with patches of green grass, sturdythistles, and many other interesting weeds. There were even numbers ofsmall but graceful trees fringing the inner edge of the old wharf, fromwhich they cast most beautiful reflections into the still waters of theCinder Pond. No quieter, more deserted spot could be imagined.
Jeannette's father, Léon Duval, built a house for his family on thesouthwest corner of the crumbling dock, three hundred feet from land.
When you have never built a house; and when you have no money with whichto buy house-building materials, about the only thing you can do is topick up whatever you can find and put it together to the best of yoursmall ability. That is precisely what Léon Duval did. Bricks from theold furnace, boards from an old barn, part of the cabin from a wreckedsteamboat, nails from driftwood along the shore, rusty stove pipe fromthe city dump ground; all went into the house that, for many years, wasto shelter the Duvals. When finished, it was of no particular shape andno particular size. Owing to the triangular nature of the wharf, at thepoint chosen, the house had to ramble a good deal, and mostlylengthwise—like a caterpillar. For several reasons, it had a great manydoors and very few windows.
For as long as Jeanne could remember, she had lived in this queer,home-made, tumble-down, one-story cabin; perched on the outside—thatis, the lake side—of the deserted wharf.
On the day of the mishap to Roger Fairchild's navy-blue suit, Jeanne,having put on what was left of her only dress, proceeded to build a firein the rusty, ramshackle stove that occupied the middle section of hervery queer home. Then, without stopping to figure out how manyhalf-brothers it took to make a whole one, she helped three of thesehalf-portions, all with tousled heads of reddish hair, into variousragged garments.
Perhaps, if all the Duvals had risen at once, the house wouldn't haveheld them. At any rate, the older members of the family stayed abeduntil the smaller children had scampered either northward or eastwardalong the wharf, one to get water, one to get wood.
And then came the adventure.
Roger didn't look like an adventure. Most anyone would have mistakenhim for just a plump boy in very good clothes. He carried himself—anda brand-new fish-pole—with an air of considerable importance. He hadrisen early for some especial reason; and the reason, evidently, waslocated near the outer edge of the Duval dock; because, having reached ajutting timber a few feet east of the Duval mansion, he proceeded tomake himself comfortable.
He seated himself on the outer end of the jutting timber, attached awriggling worm to the hook that dangled from the brand-new pole, andthen, raising the pole to an upright position, proceeded to cast hisbaited hook to a spot that looked promising. He repeated this castingoperation a great many times.
Unfortunately, he failed to notice that the outward movement made by hisarms and body was producing a curious effect on the log on which hesat. Each time he made a cast, the squared timber, jarred by hisexertion, moved forward. Just a scrap at a time, to be sure; but if youhave enough scraps, they make inches after a while.
When the insecurely fastened log had crept out five inches, it took justone more vigorous cast to finish the business. Roger, a very muchsurprised young person, went sprawling suddenly into the lake. Straightto the bottom of it, too; while the log, after making the mighty splashthat caught Jeannette's attention, floated serenely on top.
Jeannette, whose everyday name was Jeanne, promptly wrenched a greatfish net that was drying over the low roof of her home from its place,gathered it into her arms, and rushed to the edge of the dock.
She was just in time. The boy had come to the surface and wasfloundering about like a huge turtle. Jeanne threw a large portion ofthe big net overboard, keeping a firm grasp on what remained.
"Hang on to this," she shouted. "Don't pull—just hold on. There! youcouldn't sink if you wanted to. Now just keep still—keep still ; Itell you, and I'll tow you down to that low place where the dock'sbroken. You can climb up, I guess. Don't be afraid. I've pulled mybrother out four times and my sister once—only it wasn't so deep.There, one hand on that plank, one on the net. Put your foot in thecrack—that's right. Now give me your hand. There—stand here on mygarden and I won't have to water it. My! But you're wet."
Roger was wet. But now that he was no longer frightened, he was evenangrier than wet. To be saved by a girl —a thin little slip of a girlat that—was a fearful indignity. A fellow could stand falling in. Butto be saved by a girl!
To make it worse, the dock was no longer deserted. There were folksgathering outside the tumble-down shack to look at him. A fat, untidywoman with frowzy reddish hair. A bent old woman w