Wanderfoot (The Dream Ship) is a 1913 novel by Cynthia Stockley. It is a story of wandering and seeking, moving through America, Jersey and France and touching on beauty, peace and life's purpose. Listeners who enjoy early twentieth-century fiction will find its atmosphere and journey absorbing.
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Cover of the original edition (Project Gutenberg, public domain).
Text source: gutenberg.org · The work is in the public domain.
Opening of the book
[image] Cover [image] Cynthia Stockley WANDERFOOT (THE DREAM SHIP) BY CYNTHIA STOCKLEY AUTHOR OF "POPPY," "THE CLAW," ETC TORONTO: WILLIAM BRIGGS NEW YORK: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 1913
COPYRIGHT, 1913 BY CYNTHIA STOCKLEY "Wanderfoot" is published in England under the title of "The Dream Ship" The Knickerbocker Press, New York TO MY DAUGHTER DOROTHY "O Beauty, I have wandered far; Peace, I have suffered seeking thee: Life, I have sought to see thy star, That other men might see. And after wandering nights and days, A gleam in a beloved soul Shows how life's elemental blaze Goes wandering through the whole." CONTENTS
PART I AMERICA CHAPTER I. Secret Palaces II. Grey and Gold III. Fate's Winding Paths IV. A Skeleton and a Shrine V. Squirrel in a Trap VI. Kisses and Crosses VII. More Winding Paths VIII. Wounds in the Rain PART II JERSEY I. New Roads to Fortune II. Worry-Bells III. A Ship on the Rocks IV. Children of Ishmael PART III FRANCE I. The Ways of a Lover
II. The Ways of Literature
III. Ways Sacred and Secular
IV. The Ways of Girls
V. The Ways of Boys
VI. The Way of The Sea
VII. The Way of Nemesis
VIII. The Ways of Life and Death
IX. Lonely Ways
X. The Way of Love
Part I
America
CHAPTER I
SECRET PALACES
"Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to illusion."
The Bavaric had been four fine September days at sea, and it was time for the vague pain and melancholy that always haunted Westenra after leaving Ireland to pass; yet it stayed with him as never before it had stayed. The voice of the Atlantic sang a dirge in his ears, and looking at the long grey rollers he thought of his mother's hair which he would never see again, of the mists that enveloped Inishaan as
Ireland passed from sight, of the ghosts of Raths, and all grey things;
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