: Sam Steele's Adventures on Land and Sea by Baum L Frank Lyman Frank Heath Howard Illustrator - Adventure stories; Alaska Juvenile fiction

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Illustrator: Howard Heath

SAM STEELE'S ADVENTURES On Land and Sea

CHICAGO THE REILLY & BRITTON CO. PUBLISHERS

LIST OF CHAPTERS

"Sam--come here!"

It was Mrs. Ranck's voice, and sounded more bitter and stringent than usual.

I can easily recall the little room in which I sat, poring over my next day's lessons. It was in one end of the attic of our modest cottage, and the only room "done off" upstairs. The sloping side walls, that followed the lines of the roof, were bare except for the numerous pictures of yachts and other sailing craft with which I had plastered them from time to time. There was a bed at one side and a small deal table at the other, and over the little window was a shelf whereon I kept my meager collection of books.

"Sam! Are you coming, or not?"

With a sigh I laid down my book, opened the door, and descended the steep uncarpeted stairs to the lower room. This was Mrs. Ranck's living-room, where she cooked our meals, laid the table, and sat in her high-backed wooden rocker to darn and mend. It was a big, square room, which took up most of the space in the lower part of the house, leaving only a place for a small store-room at one end and the Captain's room at the other. At one side was the low, broad porch, with a door and two windows opening onto it, and at the other side, which was properly the back of the cottage, a small wing had been built which was occupied by the housekeeper as her sleeping chamber.

As I entered the living-room in response to Mrs. Ranck's summons I was surprised to find a stranger there, seated stiffly upon the edge of one of the straight chairs and holding his hat in his lap, where he grasped it tightly with two big, red fists, as if afraid that it would get away. He wore an old flannel shirt, open at the neck, and a weather-beaten pea-jacket, and aside from these trade-marks of his profession it was easy enough to determine from his air and manner that he was a sea-faring man.

There was nothing remarkable about that, for every one in our little sea-coast village of Batteraft got a living from old ocean, in one way or another; but what startled me was to find Mrs. Ranck confronting the sailor with a white face and a look of mingled terror and anxiety in her small gray eyes.

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