Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net [Illustration: _The Man who could talk with the Birds_] DROLLS FROM SHADOWLAND BY J. H. PEARCE _Author of "Esther Pentreath," "Inconsequent Lives," "Jaco Treloar," &c._ NEW YORK MACMILLAN AND CO. 1893. _All rights reserved._ CONTENTS. PAGE THE MAN WHO COINED HIS BLOOD INTO GOLD 1 AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY 15 THE MAN WHO COULD TALK WITH THE BIRDS 27 THE PURSUIT 39 A PLEASANT ENTERTAINMENT 49 THE MAN WHO DESIRED TO BE A TREE 61 THE MAN WHO HAD SEEN 73 THE UNCHRISTENED CHILD 85 THE MAN WHO MET HATE 95 THE HAUNTED HOUSE 109 GIFTS AND AWARDS 119 FRIEND OR FOE? 133 THE FIELDS OF AMARANTH 145 THE COMEDY OF A SOUL 155 THE MAN WHO COINED HIS BLOOD INTO GOLD. THE yoke of Poverty galled him exceedingly, and he hated his taskmistress with a most rancorous hatred. As he climbed up or down the dripping ladders, descending from sollar to sollar towards the level where he worked, he would set his teeth grimly that he might not curse aloud--an oath underground being an invitation to the Evil One--but in his heart the muffled curses were audible enough. And when he was at work in the dreary level, with the darkness lying on his shoulder like a hand, and the candles shining unsteadily through the gloom, like little evil winking eyes, he brooded so moodily over his bondage to Poverty, that he desired to break from it at any cost. "I'd risk a lem for its weight in gowld: darned ef I wedn'!" he muttered savagely, as he dug at the stubborn rock with his pick. He could hear the sounds of blasting in other levels--the explosions travelling to him in a muffled boom--and above him, for he was working beneath the bed of the ocean, he could faintly distinguish the grinding of the sea as the huge waves wallowed and roared across the beach. "I'm sick to death o' this here life," he grumbled; "I'd give a haand or a' eye for a pot o' suvrins. Iss, I'd risk more than that," he added darkly: letting the words ooze out as if under his breath. At that moment his pick detached a piece of rock which came crashing down on the floor of the level, splintering into great jagged fragments as it fell. He started back with an exclamation of uncontrollable surprise. The falling rock had disclosed the interior of a cavern whose outlines were lost in impenetrable gloom, but which here and there in a vague fashion, as it caught the light of the candle flickering in his hat, seemed to sparkle as if its walls were crusted with silver. "Lor' Jimmeny, this es bra' an' queer!" he gasped.