Gene Stratton-Porter

The Song of the Cardinal By Gene Stratton-Porter

A Girl of the Limberlost, a novel by American writer and naturalist Gene Stratton-Porter, was published in August 1909. It is considered a classic of Indiana literature. It is the sequel to her earlier novel Freckles. The story takes place in Indiana, in and around the Limberlost Swamp. Even at the time, this impressive wetland region was being reduced by heavy logging, natural oil extraction and drainage for agriculture. (The swamp and forestland eventually ceased to exist, though projects since the 1990s have begun to restore a small part of it.) Patricia Raub (Senior Lecturer of American Studies at the University of Massachusetts Boston) notes that Stratton-Porter was "one of the most popular woman novelists of the era, who was known for her nature books and her editorials on McCall's 'Gene Stratton-Porter Page' as well as for her novels." Raub writes, "At the time of her death in 1924, more than ten million copies of her books had been sold - and four more books were published after her death."

Freckles is a novel written by the American writer and naturalist Gene Stratton-Porter. It is primarily set in the Limberlost Swamp area of Indiana, with brief scenes set in Chicago. The title character also appears briefly in Porter's A Girl of the Limberlost. The novel is marked by its frequent, detailed, and loving descriptions of the flora and fauna of the wilderness through the eyes of its innocent protagonist. Odin's Library Classics is dedicated to bringing the world the best of humankind's literature from throughout the ages. Carefully selected, each work is unabridged from classic works of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, or drama.

Freckles By Gene Stratton-Porter Freckles is a 1904 novel written by the American writer and naturalist Gene Stratton-Porter. It is primarily set in the Limberlost Swamp area of Indiana, with brief scenes set in Chicago. The title character also appears briefly in Porter's A Girl of the Limberlost. The novel is marked by its frequent, detailed, and loving descriptions of the flora and fauna of the wilderness through the eyes of its innocent protagonist. The hero is an adult orphan, just under twenty years of age, with bright red hair and a freckled complexion. His right hand is missing at the wrist, and has been since before he can remember. Raised since infancy in a Chicago orphanage, he speaks with a slight Irish accent, "scarcely definite enough to be called a brogue." Exhausted after days of walking and looking like a hobo, he applies for a job with the Grand Rapids lumber company, guarding timber in the Limberlost Swamp. McLean, part owner, organizer and field manager of the large company, and enthralled with the Limberlost, is impressed by the boy's polite assertiveness and hires him despite his youth and disability. He gives his name only as "Freckles", insisting that he has no name of his own. He claims the name given him in the orphanage (which we never learn) "is no more my name than it is yours".

Katherine Bates, household slave, though daughter of a land king, sets out against odds to win what she wishes from life: home, children, and two hundred acres of land. Being a Bates she is headstrong and makes mistakes, but finally reaches happiness. A real Gene Stratton Porter book.

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I. Happy Home in Sunrise Alley II. Moccasins and Lady Slippers III. S. O. S. IV. "Bearer of Morning" V. Little Brother VI. The Song of a Bird VII. Peaches' Preference in Blessings VIII. Big Brother IX. James Jr. and Malcolm X. The Wheel of Life XI. The Advent of Nancy and Peter XII. Feminine Reasoning XIII. A Safe Proposition XIV. An Orphans' Home XV. A Particular Nix XVI. The Fingers in the Pie XVII. Initiations in an Ancient and Honourable Brotherhood XVIII. Malcolm and the Hermit Thrush XIX. Establishing Protectorates XX. Mickey's Miracle

"Bel, come here " The Harvester sat in the hollow worn in the hewed log stoop by the feet of his father and mother and his own sturdier tread, and rested his head against the casing of the cabin door when he gave the command. The tip of the dog's nose touched the gravel between his paws as he crouched flat on earth, with beautiful eyes steadily watching the master, but he did not move a muscle. "Bel, come here " Twinkles flashed in the eyes of the man when he repeated the order, while his voice grew more imperative as he stretched a lean, wiry hand toward the dog. The animal's eyes gleamed and his sensitive nose quivered, yet he lay quietly. "Belshazzar, kommen Sie hier "

Medicine Man, O Medicine Man, Make for me High Magic. I, Yiada, daughter of White Wolf, Mighty Chief of the Canawacs, Mate of Star Face, Brave of the Mandanas, I of your blood, I have said it From the roots of the white toluache lilies Make me a strong medicine That will drown my scorching spirit-fire And empty my hands of their fulness. Beat your sacred turtle drums Loud and threateningly.

Kate Bates followed the narrow footpath rounding the corner of the small country church, as the old minister raised his voice slowly and impressively to repeat the command he had selected for his text. Fearing that her head would be level with the windows, she bent and walked swiftly past the church; but the words went with her, iterating and reiterating themselves in her brain. Once she paused to glance back toward the church, wondering what the minister would say in expounding that text. She had a fleeting thought of slipping in, taking the back seat and listening to the sermon. The remembrance that she had not dressed for church deterred her; then her face twisted grimly as she again turned to the path, for it occurred to her that she had nothing else to wear if she had started to attend church instead of going to see her brother.

"Have I got a Little Sister anywhere in this house?" inquired Laddie at the door, in his most coaxing voice. "Yes sir," I answered, dropping the trousers I was making for Hezekiah, my pet bluejay, and running as fast as I could. There was no telling what minute May might take it into her head that she was a little sister and reach him first. Maybe he wanted me to do something for him, and I loved to wait on Laddie.

To me the Limberlost is a word with which to conjure; a spot wherein to revel. The swamp lies in north-eastern Indiana, nearly one hundred miles south of the Michigan line and ten west of the Ohio. In its day it covered a large area. When I arrived; there were miles of unbroken forest, lakes provided with boats for navigation, streams of running water, the roads around the edges corduroy, made by felling and sinking large trees in the muck. Then the Winter Swamp had all the lacy exquisite beauty of such locations when snow and frost draped, while from May until October it was practically tropical jungle. From it I have sent to scientists flowers and vines not then classified and illustrated in our botanies.