



Produced by Al Haines.





      *[Frontispiece: "You locked me out!" she said, hysterically.
                         (missing from book)]*




                               _*HER LORD
                              AND MASTER*_


                           _By MARTHA MORTON_



                            _Illustrated by_

                        _HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY
                         and ESTHER MAC NAMARA_



                         _R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
                 18 East Seventeenth Street, NEW YORK_




                            Copyright, 1902
                                   By
                        ANTHONY J. DREXEL BIDDLE

                  Entered at Stationers' Hall, London

                          All Rights Reserved




                               *Contents*

CHAPTER

I.--A Reunion
II.--Birds of Passage
III.--On a Model Farm
IV.--Springtime
V.--Camp Indiana
VI.--Guests
VII.--The Weaver
VIII.--The World's Rest
IX.--In an Orchard of the Memory
X.--The Might of the Falls
XI.--A Moonlight Picnic
XII.--Leading to the Altar
XIII.--England
XIV.--Transplantation
XV.--"I Shall Keep My Promise"
XVI.--An Escapade
XVII.--Late Visitors
XVIII.--Awakening
XIX.--"And as He Wove, He Heard Singing"




                            *Illustrations*


"You locked me out!" she said, hysterically.  _Frontispiece_

"I'd call the picture, 'Indiana.'"

Catching Pollywogs

"I--I--what have I said?  I didn't mean it."

"I will have love to help me."




                               *Foreword*


"Her Lord and Master," by Martha Morton, was first produced in New York,
during the Spring of 1902.  The play met with great success, and ran for
over one hundred nights at the Manhattan Theatre.

Miss Victoria Morton, the sister of the playwright, now presents "Her
Lord and Master" as a novel.

The play is being produced in the principal cities during this season.




                              *CHAPTER I.*

                              *A Reunion.*


"Did the ladies arrive, Mr. Stillwater?" inquired the clerk at the
Waldorf Hotel, New York, as a tall, broad-shouldered man, unmistakably
Western in appearance, walked smilingly up to the desk.

"Bag and baggage, bless their hearts!"

A dark, distinguished looking man, who was looking over the register,
glanced at the speaker, then moved slightly to one side as the latter
took up the pen.  Stillwater registered in a quick, bold hand, and
walked away. The dark gentleman turned again to the register and read:

"Horatio Stillwater, Stillwater, Indiana."

"Horatio Stillwater, Stillwater!" he remarked to the clerk with a
cultured English accent.  "A coincidence, I presume?"

"Not at all," answered the clerk laughing.  "That often happens out
West.  You see, Stillwater founded the town.  He owned most of the land,
besides the largest interests in wheat and oil.  It's a great wheat and
oil centre. Naturally the town is named after him."

"Naturally," acquiesced the Englishman, staring blankly at the clerk.
He lit a cigar and puffed it thoughtfully for about five minutes, then
he exclaimed, "Extraordinary!"

"Beg pardon?" said the clerk.

"I find it most extraordinary."

"What are you referring to, Lord Canning?"

"I was referring to what you were telling me about this gentleman, of
course!"  Lord Canning pointed to Stillwater on the register.

"Oh!" laughed the clerk, amused that the facts he had given were still a
matter for reflection.  "Yes, he's one of our biggest capitalists out
West.  The family are generally here at this time of the year.  The
ladies have just arrived from Palm Beach."

"Palm Beach?"

"That's south, you know."

"Oh, a winter resort?"

"Exactly."

Lord Canning recommenced his study of the register.

"Mrs. Horatio Stillwater," he read. "Stillwater, Indiana.  Miss Indiana
Stillwater."  He reflected a moment. "Miss Indiana Stillwater,
Stillwater, Indiana.  Here too, is a similarity of names.  Probably a
coincidence and probably not."  He read on, "Mrs. Chazy Bunker,
Stillwater, Indiana. Bunker, Bunker!"  He pressed his hand to his
forehead.  "Oh, Bunker Hill," he thought, with sudden inspiration.

"Miss Indiana Stillwater, Stillwater, Indiana.  If the town was named
after the father, why should not the State--no, that could not be.  But
the reverse might be possible."  He addressed the clerk.

"Would you mind telling me--oh, I beg your pardon," seeing that the
clerk was very much occupied at that moment--"It doesn't matter--some
other time."  He turned and lounged easily against the desk, surveying
the people walking about, with the intentness of a person new to his
surroundings, and still pondering the question.

                     *      *      *      *      *

"Now," said Stillwater, after his family had been duly installed, "let
me look at you.  I'm mighty glad to see you all again."  He swung his
daughter Indiana up in his arms and kissed her, then set her on his knee
and looked at her with open admiration.

Mr. Horatio Stillwater had never seen any reason why he should be
ashamed of his great pride in his only child. Indiana herself had often
been heard to remark, "Pa has never really recovered from the shock of
my birth.  It was a case of too much joy.  He thinks I'm the greatest
thing on record."

"Well, folks," he said, "I expect you're all dead tired."

"Not I," said Mrs. Bunker, his mother-in-law.  She was a well-formed
woman, with dark, vivacious eyes and a crown of white hair dressed in
the latest mode.  "I could take the trip all over again."

"Did you miss us, father?" asked Mrs. Stillwater, a gentle-looking,
pretty woman, with soft, brown hair and dark blue eyes like her child's,
only Indiana's were more alert and restless.  "Ma has lovely eyes,"
Indiana was in the habit of remarking.  "She takes them from me."

Mr. Stillwater put Indiana off his knees and sat by his wife.

"Did I miss you?  Not a little bit."

"Your color's pretty bad, father," she said, "and you look dead tired.
Perhaps," she rose impulsively, "perhaps you've been laid up."

"No, ma, no," he placed his big hands on her shoulders, forcing her down
in her chair.  "I haven't been laid up.  But I've been feeling mighty
queer."

He was immediately overwhelmed by a torrent of exclamations and
questions from Mrs. Bunker and Indiana, while his wife sat pale and
quiet, with heaving breast.

"No, I don't know what's the matter with me," he answered.  "No, I can't
describe how I feel.  No, I have not been to a doctor, and I'm not
going. There, you have it straight.  I don't believe in them."

"Pa!" said Indiana, taking a stand in the centre of the room, "I want to
say a few words to you."

"Oh, Lord!" thought Stillwater, "When Indiana shakes her pompadour and
folds her arms, there's no telling where she'll end."

"I want to ask you if the sentiments which you have just expressed are
befitting ones for a man with a family?"

"Mother," said Mrs. Stillwater, "he always takes your advice, tell him
he should consult a doctor."

"Indiana has the floor!" said Mrs. Bunker.

"Is it right that you should make it necessary for me to remind you of a
common duty; that of paying proper attention to your health, in order
that we should have peace of mind?"

Indiana had been chosen to deliver the valedictory at the closing
exercises at her school.  This gave her a reputation for eloquence which
she liked to sustain whenever an occasion presented itself.

"I see your finish," she wound up, not as elegantly as one might have
expected.  "You'll be a hopeless wreck and we'll all have insomnia from
lying awake nights, worrying.  When we once get in that state--" she
turned to Mrs. Bunker.

"No cure," said the lady.  "Nothing but time."

Stillwater sat with his hand in his pocket and his eyes closed,
apparently thinking deeply.

"Well, I've said all I'm going to say."

She looked at him expectantly.  His eyes remained closed, however, and
he breathed deeply and regularly.

"I have finished, pa.  Have you any remarks to make?"

No answer.

"He's asleep, Indiana," said Mrs. Bunker, with a peal of laughter.

"He is not," said Indiana indignantly. "He's only making believe--"  She
bent down and looked in his face. "You're not asleep, are you, pa?"

"No, of course not; who said I was?"  He sat up rubbing his eyes.  "Did
you get it all off your mind, Indy?"

"You heard what I said, pa?"

"Certainly; it was fine.  You must write it down for me some day, Indy."

"Would you close your ears and eyes to the still, small voice," said
Indiana, jumping upon a chair and declaiming in approved pulpit fashion.
"The voice which says, 'Go not in the by-ways. There are snares and
quick-sands. Follow in the open road, the path of truth and
righteousness.'  I want to know if you're going to a doctor?"

"Well, I suppose I must, if I want some peace in life."

"No ordinary doctor, you must