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The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Collection of Stories, Reviews and Essays, by Willa Cather This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: A Collection of Stories, Reviews and Essays Author: Willa Cather Release Date: May 24, 2008 [EBook #25586] Last updated: January 31, 2009 Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A COLLECTION OF STORIES *** Produced by Suzanne Shell, Barbara Tozier and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net A Collection of Stories, Reviews and Essays by Willa Cather CONTENTS PART I: STORIES Peter On the Divide Eric Hermannson's Soul The Sentimentality of William Tavener The Namesake The Enchanted Bluff The Joy of Nelly Deane The Bohemian Girl Consequences The Bookkeeper's Wife Ardessa Her Boss PART II: REVIEWS AND ESSAYS Mark Twain William Dean Howells Edgar Allan Poe Walt Whitman Henry James Harold Frederic Kate Chopin Stephen Crane Frank Norris When I Knew Stephen Crane On the Art of Fiction PART I STORIES _Peter_ "No, Antone, I have told thee many times, no, thou shalt not sell it until I am gone." "But I need money; what good is that old fiddle to thee? The very crows laugh at thee when thou art trying to play. Thy hand trembles so thou canst scarce hold the bow. Thou shalt go with me to the Blue to cut wood to-morrow. See to it thou art up early." "What, on the Sabbath, Antone, when it is so cold? I get so very cold, my son, let us not go to-morrow." "Yes, to-morrow, thou lazy old man. Do not I cut wood upon the Sabbath? Care I how cold it is? Wood thou shalt cut, and haul it too, and as for the fiddle, I tell thee I will sell it yet." Antone pulled his ragged cap down over his low heavy brow, and went out. The old man drew his stool up nearer the fire, and sat stroking his violin with trembling fingers and muttering, "Not while I live, not while I live." Five years ago they had come here, Peter Sadelack, and his wife, and oldest son Antone, and countless smaller Sadelacks, here to the dreariest part of sout
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