The Happy Venture

A free download from http://www.dertz.in


The Happy Venture

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Happy Venture, by Edith
Ballinger Price 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.net
Title: The Happy Venture
Author: Edith Ballinger Price
Release Date: February 21, 2004 [EBook #11216] [Date last updated:
January 8, 2005]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
HAPPY VENTURE ***

Produced by Thaadd and PG Distributed Proofreaders

THE HAPPY VENTURE
BY

EDITH BALLINGER PRICE
AUTHOR OF "BLUE MAGIC," "US AND THE BOTTLEMAN,"
"SILVER SHOAL LIGHT," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
THE AUTHOR

Published in 1920, 1921, by The Century Co.
CONTENTS
I TALES IN THE RAIN II HAVOC III UP STAKES IV THE FINE
OLD FARMHOUSE V THE WHEELS BEGIN TO TURN VI THE
OTHER SIDE OF THE HEDGE VII A-MAYING VIII WORK IX
FAME COMES COURTING X VENTURES AND ADVENTURES
XI THE NINE GIFTS XII "ROSES IN THE MOONLIGHT" XIII
"THE SEA IS A TYRANT" XIV THE CELESTINE PLAYS HER
PART XV MARTIN!
XVI ANOTHER HOME-COMING
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Now can you see it? _Now_?" The Maestro sat down beside Kirk The
slack length of it flew suddenly aboard "Phil--Phil!" Kirk was saying
then

THE HAPPY VENTURE
CHAPTER I
[Illustration: "Now can you see it? _Now?_"]

TALES IN THE RAIN
"'How should I your true love know, From another one? By his cockle
hat and staff, And his sandal shoon...'"
It was the fourth time that Felicia, at the piano, had begun the old song.
Kenelm uncurled his long legs, and sat up straight on the window-seat.
"Why on earth so everlasting gloomy, Phil?" he said. "Isn't the rain bad
enough, without that dirge?"
"The sky's 'be-weeping' him, just the way it says," said Felicia. She
made one complete revolution on the piano-stool, and brought her
strong fingers down on the opening notes of another verse.
"'He is dead and gone, ladie, He is dead and--'"
Kenelm sat down again in the window-seat. He knew that Felicia was
anxious about their mother, and he himself shared her anxiety. The
queer code of fraternal secrecy made him refrain from showing any
sign of this to his sister, however. He yawned a little, and said, rather
brusquely:
"This rain's messing up the frost pretty well. There shouldn't be much
left of it by now."
"Crocuses soon ..." Felicia murmured. She began humming to an
almost inaudible accompaniment on the piano:
"'Ring, ting, it is the merrie springtime....'"
The rain rolled dully down the clouded window-panes and spattered off
the English-ivy leaves below the sill. They quivered up and down on
pale stems--bright, waxed leaves, as shining as though they had been
varnished.
Kirk drifted in and made his way to Felicia.
"She's better," he observed. "She said she was glad we were having

fun." He frowned a little as he ran his finger reflectively down Felicia's
sleeve. "But she's bothered. She has think-lines in her forehead. I felt
'em."
"You have a think-line in your own forehead," said Felicia, promptly
kissing it away. "Don't you bother."
"Where's Ken?" Kirk demanded.
"In the window-seat."
Thither Kirk went, a tumble of expectancy, one hand before him and
his head back. He leaped squarely upon Ken, and made known his
wishes at once. They were very much what Kenelm expected.
"See me a story--a long one!"
"Oh, law!" Kenelm sighed; "you must think I'm made of 'em. Don't
crawl all over me; let me ponder for two halves of a shake."
Kirk subsided against his brother's arm, and a "think-line" now became
manifest on Kenelm's brow.
"See me a story"--Kirk's own queer phrase--had been the demand
during most of his eight years. It seemed as though he could never have
enough of this detail of a world visible to every one but himself. He
must know how everything looked--even the wind, which could
certainly be felt, and the rain, and the heat of the fire. From the
descriptions he had amassed through his unwearied questioning, he had
pieced out for himself a quaint little world of color and light,--how like
or unlike the actuality no one could possibly tell.
"Blue is a cool thing, like water, or ice clinking in your glass," he
would say, "and red's hot and sizzly, like the fire."
"Very true," his informants would agree; but for all that, they could not
be sure what his conception might be of the colors.
Things were so confusing! There, for instance, were tomatoes. They

were certainly very cool things, if you ate them