{"product_id":"2940016070520","title":"The Rover's Secret","description":"THE ROVER'S SECRET\u003cbr\u003eA TALE OF THE PIRATE CAYS AND LAGOONS OF CUBA\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBY HARRY COLLINGWOOD\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCHAPTER ONE.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMY CHILDHOOD.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy father--Cuthbert Lascelles--was the great painter who, under a\u003cbr\u003epseudonym which I need not mention here, was a few years ago well known\u003cbr\u003ein the world of art, and whose works are now to be found enshrined in\u003cbr\u003esome of the noblest public and private collections both at home and\u003cbr\u003eabroad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was a tall and singularly handsome man; with clear grey eyes, and a\u003cbr\u003estern resolute-looking mouth shadowed by a heavy moustache which, like\u003cbr\u003ehis short curly hair and carefully trimmed beard, was of a pale golden\u003cbr\u003etint.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy mother died in giving me birth; and this, together with the fact that\u003cbr\u003eshe was a native of Italy, was all I, for some years, knew concerning\u003cbr\u003eher.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne of the earliest impressions made upon my infant mind--for I cannot\u003cbr\u003erecall the time when I was free from it--was that my parents suffered\u003cbr\u003egreat unhappiness during the latter part of their short married life;\u003cbr\u003eunhappiness resulting from some terrible mistake on the part of one or\u003cbr\u003ethe other of them; which mistake was never explained and rectified--if\u003cbr\u003eexplanation and rectification were indeed possible--during my mother's\u003cbr\u003elifetime.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHaving received this impression at so very early an age, I cannot, of\u003cbr\u003ecourse, say with certainty whence I derived it; but I am inclined to\u003cbr\u003eattribute it chiefly to the singularity of my father's conduct toward\u003cbr\u003emyself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI was his only child.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was a man to whom solitude and retirement appeared to be the chief\u003cbr\u003eessentials of existence.  Though living in London, he very rarely\u003cbr\u003emingled in society, yet I have since heard that he always met with a\u003cbr\u003emost cordial welcome when he did so--and it was seldom indeed that his\u003cbr\u003estudio doors unfolded to admit anyone but their master.  If he went into\u003cbr\u003ethe country, as of course was often the case, in search of subjects, he\u003cbr\u003enever by any chance happened to be going in the same direction as any of\u003cbr\u003ehis brethren of the brush; his destination was invariably some wild\u003cbr\u003espot, unfrequented--possibly even unknown--alike by painter and tourist.\u003cbr\u003eAnd there--if undisturbed--he would remain, diligently working all day\u003cbr\u003ein the open air during favourable weather; and, when the elements were\u003cbr\u003eunpropitious for work, taking long walks over solitary heaths and\u003cbr\u003edesolate mountain sides, or along the lonely shore.  And when the first\u003cbr\u003esnows of winter came, reminding him that it was time to turn his face\u003cbr\u003ehomeward once more, he would pack up his paraphernalia and return to\u003cbr\u003etown, laden with studies of skies and seas, of barren moorland, rocky\u003cbr\u003ecrag, and foaming mountain torrent which provoked alike the envy and the\u003cbr\u003eadmiration of his brother artists.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt will naturally be supposed that, to a man of such solitary habits as\u003cbr\u003ethese, the society of his only child would be an unspeakable comfort.\u003cbr\u003eBut, with my father, this did not appear to be by any means the case.\u003cbr\u003eHe never took me out of town with him on his annual pilgrimage to the\u003cbr\u003ecountry; and, when he was at home, it often happened that I did not see\u003cbr\u003ehim, face to face, for weeks together.  As a consequence of this\u003cbr\u003epeculiar arrangement, almost the whole of the time which I spent indoors\u003cbr\u003ewas passed in the nursery, where also my meals were served, and wherein\u003cbr\u003emy only companion was Mary, the nursemaid.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe only exceptions to this isolated state of existence were those rare\u003cbr\u003eoccasions when my father, without the slightest warning, and apparently\u003cbr\u003ewith as little reason, used to send for me to visit him in his studio.\u003cbr\u003eIt was during these interviews that his peculiar treatment of me became\u003cbr\u003emost noticeable.  As a general rule, when--after a vigorous cleansing of\u003cbr\u003emy face and hands and a change of my raiment had been effected by the\u003cbr\u003enursemaid--I was introduced into the studio, my father would ensconce me\u003cbr\u003ein a roomy old easy-chair by the fire; provide me with a picture-book of\u003cbr\u003esome kind wherewith to amuse myself; and then take no further notice of\u003cbr\u003eme.  This, however, seemed to depend to some extent upon the greeting\u003cbr\u003ewhich I received from him, and that proved to be a tolerably accurate\u003cbr\u003eindex of the humour which happened to possess him at the moment.\u003cbr\u003eSometimes the greeting would consist of a cold shake of the hand and an\u003cbr\u003eequally cold \"I hope you are well, boy,\" accompanied by a single keen\u003cbr\u003eglance which seemed at once to take in every detail of my person and\u003cbr\u003eclothing.  Sometimes the shake of the hand would be somewhat warmer, the\u003cbr\u003eaccompanying remark being, perhaps, \"I am glad to see you looking so\u003cbr\u003ewell, my boy.\"","brand":"SAP","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47101152166128,"sku":"2940016070520","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940016070520","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}