called ‘Death in the Woods’ | [Death in the Woods] in which he is at his | is the most important.”--New worst.”--Richmond _News | York _World_, January Leader_, January 17, 1927. | 19, 1927. | “‘Death in the Woods’ has | “Mr. Anderson’s story the curious distinction no | strikes the authentic Anderson story of Mr. Anderson’s could | note. He has seldom done lack, but would have hardly | anything more powerful made him the reputation he | within its limits and never so magnificently deserves.” | anything more characteristic.” --New York _Post_, February 5, | --New York _Sun_, January 1927. | 18, 1927. | The New York _Times_ reviewer | The order of the stories (January 23, 1927) remarks, | (see the table of contents for “The relegation of | the 1926 collection) is, after Mary Heaton Vorse’s story | the three prize stories, [The Madelaine] to the back | alphabetical by authors. of the book makes the reader | wonder if these authorities | on the short story ... really | know a story when they see | it.” | CHILD OF GOD BY ROARK BRADFORD From _Harper’s_ When Willie told the preacher that morning that “ev’ything is all O.K., Revund,” he meant it from the bottom of his heart. The hawking of the rain crow from the limb of the dead cottonwood, sounded like the song of a mocking bird. The monotonous patter of rain on the tin roof lulled him into gentle restfulness. The damp, dirty stench that floated up from the dark closeness of the cells below him was like a sedative. Even the lyelike coffee served to remind him that the jailer was his friend. “Cap’m Archie tole me I could have ev’ything I wanted fer brekfus,” he explained as he caught the minister sniffing and eyeing the scant remains of the meal. “An’ I tole him I b’lieve I’d take some po’k chops an’ cawfee, ef’n hit wuz all right. An’ hyar it is.” “You mean dar hit wuz,” admonished the preacher. “Now yo’ flesh is fed, Willie, whut ’bout yo’ soul?” Willie beamed a broad, knowing smile. “My soul,” he said tolerantly, “is all O.K. An’ Revund,” he continued jubilantly, “Cap’m Archie say he gonter bring me a ten-cent cigar to go walkin’ up de gallows wid in my mouf.” The minister’s face was a study in expression. “An’ I makes me a speech up yonder”--jerking his arm toward the gallows high in the roof of the jail--“an’ den----” “Den which, son?” Preacher Moore was eager to find a point of contact at which he could begin his prepared message of consolation. “I’se Glory bound!” Willie declared with enthusiasm. * * * * *