The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

lunch—they’re getting so vague lately. Val went out to call them to dinner last night and it took him a good five minutes to get them out of the garden.”
    “Five? Nearer ten,” scoffed her brother.
    Holmes got up abruptly. “Well, I’ll be drifting. When is this binge of yours?”
    “Three-thirty, which really means four,” answered Ricky. “Aren’t you going to stay to lunch?”
    The New Yorker shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve another engagement. Thanks just the same.”
    “Thank you !” Val waved the note-book as he vanished. “Wonder why he hurried off that way?”
    “Mad to think that Miss Charity was gone,” answered Rod shrewdly. “Yo’ve had that board long enough.” He calmly possessed himself of Val’s drawing equipment. “Time to rest.”
    “Yes, grandfather,” his cousin assented meekly.
    Ricky slapped at a fly. “It seems to get hotter and hotter,” she said. From the breast pocket of her sport dress she produced a handkerchief and mopped her face. Then she looked at the handkerchief in surprise.
    “What’s the matter? Some face come off along with the paint?” asked Val.
    “No. But I just remembered what this is—our clue!”
    “You mean the handkerchief we found in the hall? I wonder who—”
    Rod reached up and took it out of her hand.
    “Mine. Miss Charity gave me a dozen last Christmas.”
    “Then you left it there,” Ricky laughed. “Well, that solves the last of our mysteries.”
    “All present or accounted for,” Val agreed as around the house came Rupert and their tenant.
    “So there you are,” began Ricky. “And I’d like to know what you’ve been doing all morning—”
    “Would you really?” asked Rupert.
    Ricky stared at him for a long moment and then she arose before transferring her gaze to Charity. It might have been sunburn or the heat Ricky had complained of which colored the cheeks of the Boston Biglow.
    “Rod! Val!” cried Ricky. “Where are your manners?” As she sank forward in a deep and graceful curtsy she added, “Can’t you see that Rupert has brought home his Marchioness?”
    “Now that,” said Val, as he held out his hand to the new mistress of Pirate’s Haven, “is what I call ‘Ralestone Luck.’”

RIDE PROUD, REBEL! (1961)
    FROM GENERAL N. BEDFORD FORREST’S FAREWELL TO HIS COMMAND, MAY 9, 1865, GAINESVILLE, ALABAMA.
    The cause for which you have so long and so manfully struggled, and for which you have braved dangers, endured privations and sufferings, and made so many sacrifices, is today hopeless.…
    Civil war, such as you have passed through naturally engenders feelings of animosity, hatred and revenge. It is our duty to divest ourselves of all such feelings; and, as far as in our power to do so, to cultivate friendly feelings toward those with whom we have so long contended, and heretofore so widely, but honestly, differed.…
    …In bidding you farewell, rest assured that you carry with you my best wishes for your future welfare and happiness. Without, in any way, referring to the merits of the cause in which we have been engaged, your courage and determination, as exhibited on many hard-fought fields, have elicited the respect and admiration of friend and foe. And I now cheerfully and gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness to the officers and men of my command, whose zeal, fidelity and unflinching bravery have been the great source of my success in arms.
    I have never, on the field of battle, sent you where I was unwilling to go myself; nor would I now advise you to a course which I felt myself unwilling to pursue. You have been good soldiers; you can be good citizens. Obey the laws, preserve your honor, and the Government to which you have surrendered can afford to be, and will be, magnanimous.
    N. B. Forrest, Lieutenant General
    CHAPTER 1
    Ride with Morgan
    The stocky roan switched tail angrily against a persistent fly and lipped water, dripping big drops back to the surface of the brook. His rider moved swiftly, with an economy of action, to unsaddle, wipe the besweated back with a wisp of last year’s dried grass, and wash down each mud-spattered leg with stream water. Always care for the mount first—when a man’s life, as well as the safety of his mission, depended on four subordinate legs more than on his own two.
    Though he had little claim to a thoroughbred’s points, the roan was as much a veteran of the forces as his groom, with all a veteran’s ability to accept and enjoy small favors of