Norman Duncan

Reproduction of the original: Doctor Luke of the Labrador by Norman Duncan

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This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

Norman Duncan (2 July 1871 -8 October 1916) was an author, journalist and educator. Duncan was born in Brantford, Ontario, a son of Augustus and Susan (Hawley) Duncan. He was educated in the University of Toronto, graduating in 1895.

Norman Duncan (2 July 1871 -8 October 1916) was an author, journalist and educator. Duncan was born in Brantford, Ontario, a son of Augustus and Susan (Hawley) Duncan. He was educated in the University of Toronto, graduating in 1895.

When Dick Slade died in the big red tenement of Box Street, he died as other men die, complaining of the necessity; and his son, in the way of all tender children, sorely wept: not because his father was now lost to him, which was beyond his comprehension, but because the man must be put in a grave-a cold place, dark and suffocating, being underground, as the child had been told.

My uncle, Nicholas Top, of Twist Tickle, was of a cut so grotesque that folk forgot their manners when he stumped abroad. Bowling through the streets of St. John's, which twice a year he tapped with staff and wooden leg, myself in leading--bowling cheerily, with his last rag spread, as he said, and be damned to the chart--he left a swirling wake of amazement: craning necks, open mouths, round eyes, grins so frank, the beholders being taken unaware, that 'twas simple to distinguish hearts of pity from savage ones.

Norman Duncan (2 July 1871 -8 October 1916) was an author, journalist and educator. Duncan was born in Brantford, Ontario, a son of Augustus and Susan (Hawley) Duncan. He was educated in the University of Toronto, graduating in 1895.

This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

Young Jimmie Grimm began life at Buccaneer Cove of the Labrador. It was a poor place to begin, of course; but Jimmie had had nothing to do with that. It was by Tog, with the eager help of two hungry gray wolves, that he was taught to take care of the life into which, much to his surprise, he had been ushered. Tog was a dog with a bad name; and everybody knows that a dog with a bad name should be hanged forthwith. It should have happened to Tog. At best he was a wolfish beast. His father was a wolf; and in the end Tog was as lean and savage and cunningly treacherous as any wolf of the gray forest packs. When he had done with Jimmie Grimm--and when Jimmie Grimm's father had done with Tog--Jimmie Grimm had learned a lesson that he never could recall without a gasp and a quick little shudder.

This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

However bleak the Labrador-however naked and desolate that shore-flowers bloom upon it. However bitter the despoiling sea-however cold and rude and merciless-the gentler virtues flourish in the hearts of the folk.... And the glory of the coast-and the glory of the whole world-is mother-love: which began in the beginning and has continued unchanged to this present time-the conspicuous beauty of the fabric of life: the great constant of the problem.

"Ain't ye goin' t' preach no more at Camp Six?" "Sure, Tom " "Well-when the hell?" "Week from Thursday, Tom," the vanishing man called back; "tell the boys I'm coming." "Know the Pilot?" the lumber-jack asked. I nodded. "Higgins's job," said he, earnestly, "is keepin' us boys out o' hell; an' he's the only man on the job." Of this I had been informed.