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Stories by American Authors, Volume 2   By:

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"Stories by American Authors, Volume 2 features a diverse collection of short stories written by various American authors. Each story offers a unique perspective on different aspects of life, showcasing the talent and creativity of the writers. The stories range from heartwarming to thought-provoking, with engaging plots and well-developed characters. Readers will find themselves immersed in the world of each story, enjoying the vivid descriptions and emotional depth. Overall, this anthology is a delightful read that highlights the rich literary tradition of American writers."

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Stories by American Authors

VOLUME II

THE TRANSFERRED GHOST BY FRANK R. STOCKTON

A MARTYR TO SCIENCE BY MARY PUTNAM JACOBI, M. D.

MRS. KNOLLYS BY J. S. OF DALE, AUTHOR OF "GUERNDALE"

A DINNER PARTY BY JOHN EDDY

THE MOUNT OF SORROW BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD

SISTER SILVIA BY MARY AGNES TINCKER

NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1896

COPYRIGHT, 1884, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

The Stories in this Volume are protected by copyright, and are printed here by authority of the authors or their representatives.

[Illustration: Frank R. Stockton]

THE TRANSFERRED GHOST.

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.

Century Magazine, May, 1882.

The country residence of Mr. John Hinckman was a delightful place to me, for many reasons. It was the abode of a genial, though somewhat impulsive, hospitality. It had broad, smooth shaven lawns and towering oaks and elms; there were bosky shades at several points, and not far from the house there was a little rill spanned by a rustic bridge with the bark on; there were fruits and flowers, pleasant people, chess, billiards, rides, walks, and fishing. These were great attractions, but none of them, nor all of them together, would have been sufficient to hold me to the place very long. I had been invited for the trout season, but should, probably, have finished my visit early in the summer had it not been that upon fair days, when the grass was dry, and the sun not too hot, and there was but little wind, there strolled beneath the lofty elms, or passed lightly through the bosky shades, the form of my Madeline... Continue reading book >>


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