The Mouse

Theodoric Voler had been brought up, from infancy to the confines of middle age, by a fond mother whose chief solicitude had been to keep him screened from what she called the coarser realities of life. 


The Saint And The Goblin

The little stone Saint occupied a retired niche in a side aisle of the old cathedral.  No one quite remembered who he had been, but that in a way was a guarantee of respectability.  At least so the Goblin said. 


Sredni Vashtar

Conradin was ten years old, and the doctor had pronounced his professional opinion that the boy would not live another five years.


The Lost Sanjak

The prison Chaplain entered the condemned’s cell for the last time, to give such consolation as he might.

“The only consolation I crave for,” said the condemned, “is to tell my story in its entirety to some one who will at least give it a respectful hearing.”


A Young Turkish Catastrophe In Two Scenes

The Minister for Fine Arts (to whose Department had been lately added the new sub-section of Electoral Engineering) paid a business visit to the Grand Vizier.  According to Eastern etiquette they discoursed for a while on indifferent subjects.  The minister only checked himself in time from making a passing reference to the Marathon Race, remembering that the Vizier had a Persian grandmother and might consider any allusion to Marathon as somewhat tactless.  Presently the Minister broached the subject of his interview.