Frank Waller Allen, novelist, was born at Milton, Kentucky, September 30, 1878, the son of a clergyman. He spent his boyhood days at Louisville, and, in the fall of 1896, he entered Kentucky (Transylvania) University, Lexington, Kentucky. While in college he was editor of The Transylvanian, the University literary magazine; and he also did newspaper work for The Louisville Times, and The Courier-Journal. Mr. Allen quit college to become a reporter on the Kansas City Journal, later going with the Kansas City Times as book editor. He resigned this position to return to Kentucky University to study theology. He is now pastor of the First Christian (Disciples) church, at Paris, Missouri. Mr. Allen's first stories were published in Munsey's, The Reader, and other periodicals, but it is upon his books that he has won a wide reputation in Kentucky and the West. The first title was a sketch, My Ships Aground (Chicago, 1900), and his next work was an exquisite tale of love and Nature, entitled Back to Arcady (Boston, 1905), which has sold far into the thousands and is now in its third edition. A more perfect story has not been written by a Kentuckian of Mr. Allen's years. The Maker of Joys (Kansas City, 1907), was so slight that it attracted little attention, yet it is exceedingly well-done; and in his latest book, The Golden Road (New York, 1910), he just failed to do what one or two other writers have recently done so admirably. His Nature-loving tinker falls a bit short, but some excellent writing may be found in this book. Mr. Allen has recently completed another novel, The Lovers of Skye, which will be issued by the Bobbs-Merrill Company in the spring of 1913.

Bibliography. The Reader Magazine (October, 1905); Who's Who in America (1912-1913).

A WOMAN ANSWERED

[From The Maker of Joys (Kansas City, Missouri, 1907)]

At this moment the servant lifted the tapestries and announced: "The lady, sir."

This time, before he could stop her, she took his hand and kissed it.

"There was little use in my coming today," she said, "except to thank you."

"Why, I do not quite understand you. What for?" asked the rector in surprise.

"For answering my question."

"Tell me?" he replied.

"You've known me a long time," she answered, "and being Jimmy Duke, it isn't necessary for me to tell you how I've lived. But you and me—once youth is gone, sir, and people are a long time old. I've thought of this a great deal lately, and I've been trying to decide what's right and what's wrong.... Then I read in the papers about you. About the things you preach and the like, and I knew you could tell me. I knew you'd know whether good people are faking, and which life is best. You see, I'd never thought of it in all my life before until just a little while ago. Just a month or such a matter."

"And now?" asked the Shepherd of St. Mark's.

"I could have left the old life years ago if I had wanted to," she continued, ignoring his question. "There is a man—well, there's several of them—but this a special one, who, for years, has wanted me to marry him. I always liked him better than anybody I knew, but I just couldn't give up the life. He is a plain man in a little village in Missouri, and I thought I'd die if I went. He offered to move to the city and I was afraid for him. You see I just didn't know what was good and what was bad, yet I didn't want this man to become like other men I knew."

"Tell me, what are you going to do?" he asked eagerly. He had almost said, "Tell me what to do."

"Well," she answered, "since I have been thinking it all over, things as they are have become empty. There is no joy in it, and I am weary of it all.... Yesterday I came to you. I wanted to ask you whether it was best or not to leave the old life. But I did not have to ask you. I saw how it was when you told me what you had done. And O, how I thank you for straightening it all out for me. Besides," she added with hesitancy, "after I left you last night I telegraphed for the man in the little village out west."

When she had gone he gazed out of the window after her as she walked buoyant and happy through the night.

"Perhaps," softly said the Maker of Joys, "it is the memory of the old days that is sweetest after all."