Flood Tide, by Sara Ware Bassett, 
Illustrated 
 
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Illustrated by M. L. Greer 
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Title: Flood Tide 
Author: Sara Ware Bassett 
 
Release Date: July 23, 2006 [eBook #18902] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLOOD 
TIDE*** 
E-text prepared by Al Haines 
 
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FLOOD TIDE 
by 
SARA WARE BASSETT 
Author of 
"The Harbor Road," "The Wall Between," "Taming of Zenas Henry," 
etc. 
With Frontispiece by M. L. Greer 
 
[Frontispiece: "Delight's kinder bowled over by surprise, Tiny," Willie 
explained gently.] 
 
A. L. Burt Company Publishers -------- New York Published by 
arrangement with Little, Brown and Company Copyright, 1921, By 
Sara Ware Bassett. All rights reserved Published March, 1921 
 
CONTENTS 
CHAPTER 
I. 
THE WEAVER AND HIS FANCIES II. WILLIE HAS AN IDEE III. 
A NEW ARRIVAL IV. THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER ENTERS V. 
AN APPARITION VI. MARRYING AND GIVING IN MARRIAGE
VII. A SECOND SPIRIT APPEARS VIII. SHADOWS IX. A 
WIDENING OF THE BREACH X. A CONSPIRACY XI. THE 
GALBRAITH HOUSEHOLD XII. ROBERT MORTON MAKES A 
RESOLVE XIII. A NEWCOMER ENTERS XIV. THE SPENCES 
ENTER SOCIETY XV. A REVELATION XVI. ANOTHER BLOW 
DESCENDS XVII. A GRIM HAND INTERVENES XVIII. THE 
PROGRESS OF ANOTHER ROMANCE XIX. WILLIE AS PILOT 
XX. ONE MORE OF WILLIE'S SHIPS REACHES PORT XXI. 
SURPRISES XXII. DELIGHT MAKES HER DECISION XXIII. 
FAME COMES TO THE DREAMER OF DREAMS 
 
FLOOD TIDE 
CHAPTER I 
THE WEAVER AND HIS FANCIES 
Willie Spence was a trial. Not that his personality rasped society at 
large. On the contrary his neighbors cherished toward the little old man, 
with his short-sighted blue eyes and his appealing smile, an affection 
peculiarly tender; and if they sometimes were wont to observe that 
although Willie possessed some common sense he was blessed with 
uncommon little of it, the observation was facetiously uttered and was 
offered with no malicious intent. 
In fact had one scoured Wilton from end to end it would have been 
difficult to unearth a single individual who bore enmity toward the 
owner of the silver-gray cottage on the Harbor Road. It was impossible 
to talk ten seconds with Willie Spence and not be won by his kindliness, 
his optimism, his sympathy, and his honesty. Willie probably could not 
have dissembled had he tried, and fortunately his life was of so simple 
and transparent a trend that little lay hidden beneath its crystalline 
exterior. What he was he was. When baffled by phenomena he would 
scratch his thin locks and with a smile of endearing candor frankly 
admit, "I dunno." When, on the other hand, he knew himself to be 
master of a debated fact, no power under heaven could shake the
tenacity with which he clung to his beliefs. There was never any 
compromise with truth on Willie's part. A thing was so or it was not. 
This reputation for veracity, linked as it was with an ingenuous good 
will toward all mankind, had earned for Willie Spence such universal 
esteem and tenderness that whenever the stooping figure with its ruddy 
cheeks, soft white hair, and gentle smile made its appearance on the 
sandy roads of the hamlet, it was hailed on all sides with the loving and 
indulgent greetings of the inhabitants of the village. 
Even Celestina Morton, who kept house for him and who might well 
have lost patience at his defiance of domestic routine, worshipped the 
very soil his foot touched. There was, of course, no denying that 
Willie's disregard for the meal hour had become what she termed 
"chronical" and severely taxed her forbearance; or that since she was a 
creature of human limitations she did at times protest when the 
chowder stood forgotten in the tureen until it was of Arctic temperature; 
nor had she ever acquired the grace of spirit to amiably view freshly 
baked popovers shrivel neglected into nothingness. Try as she would to 
curb her tongue, under such circumstances, she occasionally would 
burst out: 
"I do wish, Willie Spence, you'd quit your dreamin' an' come to 
dinner." 
For answer Willie would rise hastily and stand arrested, a bit of string 
in one hand and the hammer in the other, and peering reproachfully 
over the top of his steel-bowed spectacles would reply: 
"Law, Tiny! You wouldn't begretch me my dreams, would you? 
They're about all I've got. If it warn't fur the things I dream    
    
		
	
	
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