If You Touch Them They Vanish

"If I had the power," he thought, "I'd settle this region with innocent people who have been accused of crimes." If You Touch Them They Vanish By Gouverneur Morris With illustrations by Charles S. Chapman New York Charles Scribner's Sons 1913 Copyright , 1913, by Charles Scribner's Sons Published October, 1913 To John Frederick Byers Illustrations "If I had the power," he thought, "I'd settle this region with innocent people who have been accused of crimes." Frontispiece "Only come back, darlint"—she fought against tears;—"and I'll fill the house with helpers from attic to cellar." 42 "Now how about a sawmill;—right here?" 80 During the winter, the Poor Boy made two excursions southward through his valley and beyond. 86 She suddenly stopped running, and turned and waited for him. 96 His fingers began to follow an air that flowed with eternal sadness like blood from a broken heart. 120 "She will always be just as I see her now, no older, untroubled, gentle and dear." 132 And then carrying her swiftly home, he proceeded to go quite mad. 144 I Old Martha wondered if the Poor Boy would have a smile for her. He had had so many in the old days, the baby days, the growing-up days, the college days, the "world so new and all" days. There were some which she would always remember. The smile he smiled one Christmas morning, when he put the grand fur coat around her shoulders, and the kiss on her cheek. The smile he smiled that day when they met in front of the photographer's, and he took her in and had their photograph taken together: she sitting and glaring with embarrassment at the camera, he standing, his hand on her shoulder, smiling—down on her. To save her life she could not recall a harsh word in his mouth, a harsh look in his eyes. In the growing-up days he had been sick a great deal; but the trustees and the doctors had put their trust in old Martha, and she had pulled him through. When the pain was too great, her Poor Boy was always for hiding his face. It was thus that he gathered strength to turn to her once more, smiling. It was Martha who spoke stories of princesses and banshees and heroes and witch-wolves through the long nights when he could not sleep. It was old Martha who drew…