The Project Gutenberg eBook of "Blue for your eyes and brown for your hair" This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: "Blue for your eyes and brown for your hair" Author: Helen R. Hull Release date: October 25, 2026 [eBook #79858] Language: English Original publication: New York: Mary Fanton Roberts, Inc., 1920 Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79858 Credits: Jens Sadowski. This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library. *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "BLUE FOR YOUR EYES AND BROWN FOR YOUR HAIR" *** “Blue for Your Eyes and Brown for Your Hair” Helen R. Hull The Touchstone, vol. 7, June 1920, pp. 175-185. Outside the small panes of the kitchen windows the dusk pressed, gray-white, like an emanation from the deep snow about the house. The room had a peripheral disorder; the occupants had, as winter came on, drawn close to the stove, casting behind them the equipment of livelier seasons. In the corner under the cupboards a pile of rags on which a black cat was curled; under the windows a cot with tumbled blankets; on the table, shoved back from the edge, a litter of cans and broken jars, a plate of flat, gray biscuit. In the room the odor of age, musty plaster and rotting wood and unwashed clothes, an odor with one streak of protest, aromatic and fanciful, the hot sap from the green birch logs piled to dry in the oven and under the stove. The rocker close to the range creaked; a gaunt cat jumped to the floor; and slowly, one hand clutching at her back, Elizabeth Whittle pushed herself up to her feet. Her face was lichen-gray and mottled; her body made a crumpled “C” as though she huddled about her own heart. “Where’s Hanley?” Her voice had the crackle of lichens broken between fingers. “I must of dozed. Hanley ought to come in. He’ll get a cold, working so long. He ought to come in, he ought.” Her passing to the outer door had the wavering of a dried leaf over the floor. She opened the door, holding it with her crooked fingers; there was no wind to rush in, but the cold pressed through the crack, a massive, solid force. “Hanley!” She thrust her face into that palpable dusk. “Hanley!” From the shed came the sound of an axe, not a clean, swift stroke, but short, nibbling cuts. “Hanley!” She closed the door before winter should take complete possession of the kitchen and drifted back to her rocker. “Terrible cold.” She panted slightly as she hitched her chair nearer the stove and let herself down with brittle care. “Terrible cold winter. Hanley ought to come in. The Lord sees fit to make us suffer. Whom He loveth—— What was it I had in mind to do?” She held her hands toward the stove, their spider-like fingers trembling. “Something ’bout Hanley’s supper. The strength’s gone from me. I think what to do and I don’t do it.” She dropped into silence, eyelids folded over dim, yellowed eyes. Over her bent shoulders drooped a twist of gray hair. The opening of the door and the clumping of a man’s boots across the floor did not rouse her. Hanley let his armful of pine sticks slip into the box, and thrust his long, mild face close to the old woman’s. “Sleeping,” he said, slowly. “I keep fearing another of them spells.” He sat down on the couch and tugged at his boots, puffing as he reached for his slippers. “She sleeps considerable,” he went on, in his gentle, uncadenced voice. “Sleeps and sleeps—might be strengthing to sleep. If she’d get stronger I’d get about more.” He stood up, sighing, peering about the room with straining, opaque eyes. “Makes it hard, me not getting out, with wood to cut and all. The sick must be tended to.” He shuffled across to the water bucket at the sink; there was in his movements, in his narrow, bent shoulders and dangling arms, a slow futility, as though his body made sluggish response to any need for action. He carried a dipperful of water from pail to the kettle on the stove, one hand held to catch the drops from the rag-stuffed hole. As he moved the kettle forward his mother stirred, blinked, and took up her crackle where she had dropped it. “I think what’s to do and don’t do it. Biscuits for supper, I think. I must of dozed. I’d ought to mix up some biscuits.” “There’s bread enough, mother.” “Eh?” “Bread enough.” Hanley shouted close to her ear. “Bread enough. You set still.” “Terrible cold, Hanley. You’d ought to come in.” “I am in, mother. Set still and I’ll fix your supper.” “I don’t know as I call to mind a colder winter. Eats into me. It’s colder’n there’s any call for winter to be.” “It’s pretty cold.” Hanley moved about the room with his sidewise shuffle, setting cups and bread on the corner of the table, lighting the smoky lamp. “One winter I recollect was cold enough to freeze the bay. We drove across with oxen to the mainland, father and mother and me. That was—once. Cold and cruel.” She twisted around in her chair. “You’d ought to be careful, Hanley, it’s so cold.” “Yes, mother.” Hanley lifted the kettle, holding it cautiously with both hands as he filled the teapot. “Want your supper here in your chair? Not so much for supper. If we had some butter, now, ’twould seem more.” “Eh?” “I’ll give you your supper here. Warmer.” Hanley did not hurry his gentle speech; he bent nearer his mother and repeated his words. “I was saying I’d ought to try for some butter. Mis’ Saxe might see to giving us some for wood cutting next spring.” He poured the tea into the cracked, heavy cups. “Now at home we always had butter. Father kept a cow. I had to milk when my fingers was too little to reach round her tits. Always worked hard.” She nodded, her wisps of gray hair waving. “Washed the dishes when I had to stand up on a chair. And going for the cows, down through the cranberry bog, dark coming back—two miles—and the tide might be in across the bar——” “Here’s your tea, mother.” Hanley placed the cup in her restless hands, and set the saucer with its hunk of bread near her, on the back of the stove. For a few minutes the kitchen was silent except for the faint sucking noise of old gums mumbling tea-soaked bread. Then Hanley set his emptied cup on the shelf and moved a chair over near the stove. “Next week if you feel smarter, I might cut wood a day or two for Mis’ Saxe. I been thinking about it. I might cut a day or two. You might feel right smart by next week.” He slipped a birch stick into the stove, and sat down, his large loose hands spread on his knees. “What with them potatoes freezing and all, we’re getting sort of short. I might cut a day or two.” “I’m a hindrance and a drawback to you in your works.” Elizabeth Whittle set down her cup with a click. “Keeping you from your good chance at wood cutting and all. A poor old hindrance——” “Now, mother, don’t go off talking that way.” Hanley’s steady monotone broke into her querulous plaint. “I ain’t been feeling none too smart myself, and it’s cold to work in. Don’t talk that way. Come spring and we’ll be chipper’n ever. Winter’s hard to endure.” “Come spring——” She jerked her head around the back of her rocker to peer at a door. “Who’s that? Who’s in there?” “Nobody’s there, mother. What’d you think was there?” “Somebody’s in there. Walking.” She pushed herself to her feet and scurried across to the door. “You’ll get cold, opening that door, mother.” Hanley’s protest followed her. She rattled the knob and thrust against the door with her withered hands. “Somebody’s holding it!” “Now, mother, you’ve got a notion, that’s all.” Hanley came with his shambling walk, and opened the door. The room beyond was still, empty, with the clayey odor of rooms unheated, cold-devoured. A square sitting room, a rusty Franklin stove in front of the large fireplace, a few pieces of furniture indistinct in the shadows. “No one’s there. You’ll get cold, standing here.” He pulled the door firmly shut again. “I heard your father walking around in there,” insisted the old woman. “Where is he, if he ain’t there?” Her fingers plucked at Hanley’s sleeve. “Why, mother, you know. He’s dead. Dead these ten years. You know.” “I heard him. Walking around.” She stood close to her son, her crackle stilled to a faint rustle. “He thinks I don’t know he’s there. Once before he came back. From sea. He thought I didn’t know.” “Come back here by the fire, mother.” Hanley led her to her chair and took his seat beside her. “Your father was a good man. But he was foolish-streaked.” Her bent shoulders trembled in a dry laugh. “He was off in his vessel, fishing on the Banks. The boys told him, ‘John, you’re a widower. Your wife’s got married again, while you’re off at sea.’ He believes them and comes home to find out. He was foolish-streaked. He thinks I don’t know he’s in there. All day he’s been there, waiting. I heard him.” “He’s dead, mother. You remember he’s dead.” “He thinks something is going to happen today. That’s why he’s back.” “Mother, you better lie down and rest you. You’re tired.” Hanley shoved back his chair, his patient, dull face perplexed. “You better go to bed. You’re tired.” “I’m tired. Yes. But I got something else to do tonight.” She drew herself up in her chair, a simper on her old, bloodless lips. “I want you should get me my chest of clothes.” “What you want that for, mother? It’s late. You go to bed now.” “You get me my green chest of clothes. It’s cold in there. Bring ’em out here.” Hanley went slowly across to the little room behind the sitting room where he slept during the winter. “I got to humor her,” he said, as he groped for the chest. “She’s notional, but I got to humor her. Going against her might turn her into a heart spell.” He carried out the chest, a painted wooden box, and let it down to the floor near his mother’s chair. He untied the cord which bound it and lifted the cover. From the confused piles of faded stuffs within rose a pale fragrance, lavender perhaps, incongruous and pitiful against the close air of the kitchen. “Now shake out the things and I’ll say what I want.” Mrs. Whittle leaned over the arm of her chair, her hands pulling at the folds of her grimy wrapper. “Now mother!” Hanley sat down on the cot, the cover of the chest braced between his knees. “What’s the good of that? What you want? Taking them out and putting them back again—they’re all folded proper now.” “Eh?” Mrs. Whittle lurched forward, her fingers closing into the yellowed fringe of the silk shawl. Jerking herself back into her chair, she spread it over her knees. “All nice things. I never made a show of my best as some does.” Her roughened finger tips caught in the silk and it floated about her hands before it dropped into limp, discolored folds again. “Your father brought that from some foreign parts one time. I always liked a mite of color myself. He brought it from foreign parts. Always bringing home things what wouldn’t fit your want, he was. Shake out that next, Hanley.” Hanley lifted a pile of woolen stuff, blue ground with a small flower. He fumbled with it. “No head nor tail to this—there!” He held it out stiffly so that it flowed about him, a voluminous old dress, the panniers crumpled, streaked with black, the front eaten away in a frayed, black gap. Mrs. Whittle clutched at it. “Burned—all burned!” She pressed it against her body and rocked over it. “A lovely piece of goods and mother helped sew on it.” “You saved it from the fire when the house caught and burned.” “Wanton, cruel destruction! She never surmised I knew she did it! Burning up a home——” “It caught from the range, mother. What you thinking of now?” “Oh, I never said.” The old woman bent forward, whispering cunningly. “I knew! Hartwell’s sister, Eliza Bond. I saw her running up the hill that night. I saw it in her face. Wanton, cruel destruction!” “Now, mother!” Hanley drew the dress out of her arms and laid it on the cot beside him. “You’ve no call to say things like that. Eliza Bond’s dead these many years. She wouldn’t fire a house——” “I never said—but I’m saying now to you. She did it. Hated me, she did. Thought she would fright me.” Mrs. Whittle peered about the kitchen. “She thought Hartwell was my fancy man. That’s what she thought. She knew I couldn’t speak out if I saw her. Setting us back—we never rightly caught up. All our things gone.” “Mother, you’re getting all heated up. You ought to go to bed.” Hanley shifted his feet uneasily. “Ain’t no call to stir up things.” “She was a jealous piece. She’s gone to her reward.” She held her hands out again. “They’s things I want there. What’s that?” As Hanley lifted the next garment, a basque of brown silk, faded, streaked, with flattened bows of pale blue ribbon, something clinked to the floor. He stooped to find it, while his mother, with little murmurs of delight, stroked the silk, held the basque up to her throat, felt of the old blue bows. “Blue for your eyes and brown for your hair——” The thin voice shrilled into pleasure. “That’s just what Hartwell said. Blue for your eyes and brown—— What you got, Hanley?” Hanley held the small leather case close to his eyes. “A picture, maybe.” He fumbled at the hook. “Why, yes. That’s what it is, a picture.” He peered at it. “Who might it be?” Mrs. Whittle reached for it. “Eh, that’s your father.” She blinked for a moment at the daguerreotype. The face might have been a poet’s, thin, soft, with dark eyes and hair. “Took in some port. He didn’t think to have his hair cut or take off his work clothes, even.” She dropped it into Hanley’s hand. “When he brings it home, I says, ‘John, never set for a taking unless you are prepared.’ He was foolish-streaked.” “It looks dreadful youngish.” Hanley held the daguerreotype again close to his eyes. “Dreadful youngish.” “Blue brings out blue eyes.” Elizabeth Whittle held the basque up to her shoulders. “Blue and brown’s always my real colors. You lay this one side, Hanley. I want you should lay this one side.” “You want this, too?” Hanley lifted the next, full skirt and basque of flowered calico, the bowknots of color still startlingly bright against the yellowed ground. “Looks big-like for you, mother.” “That!” Mrs. Whittle did not reach for it. Over the parchment of her face moved a dry quiver. “Might be I was fuller favored then. I don’t want that. I never wore that again. I couldn’t rightly do without it. But I never put it on my back again. Coming home I was, down the hill, and I was met. Lem Rainey he it was met me. ‘Heard the sad news, Mis’ Whittle?’ he says. ‘No, I ain’t,’ I says. ‘How Hartwell was lost at sea?’ he says. My heart left my body with anguish. I stood there quietlike, and says, ‘No, I ain’t heard.’ He was peering and prying at my face. ‘Sad for his folks,’ he says. ‘Yes, ’tis so,’ I makes reply. I never could endure to put that dress on again.” She was silent a moment, her lips mumbling. Then she cried out, shrilly: “Many’s the time your father was thought to be lost at sea. Three months lost his ship was one time. He always came back. Even after I put on decent black one time. Came back and died in there in his own bed. Hartwell—he was lost. His vessel foundered. I knew it that day.” “I call to mind now how Hartwell Bond was lost at sea.” Hanley laid the dress carefully beside him. “You never made mention of it. He wasn’t kin of yours.” “Eh? My strength’s gone. I’m wore out.” Elizabeth Whittle dropped back in her chair, her head nodding. “I knew it that day. I felt it here.” She pressed her hand to her shrunken old breast. “He was a fair-spoken man. Took for a punishment to my sin. A fair-spoken man.” “Now, mother, there’s no call to stir things up. You ought to go to bed.” “The Lord saw my sin.” She paused, and again her thin shoulders trembled in a laugh. “They never found our trysting place. The second turn of the woodpath beyond the upper blueberry patch, along the fence. And Hartwell coming in from the other road, beyond. He took what he wanted, Hartwell did. He was a driving, masterful man. It’s been a good while back since I went there. The last time—Hartwell didn’t keep his tryst. ‘Four months to a day I’ll meet you,’ he said, and he went on his voyage. I went, but he was lost at sea. A good while back. Eh, it was bitter, his not keeping his tryst. But he’ll keep it now!” She bent forward. “Maybe ’twas sinful. So long ago—I can’t rightly say. I told your father straight out. He cried! Cried. That ain’t a man’s part, to cry. But here I sit talking, in the stead of making myself ready.” “What you want to get ready for, mother?” “They’d ought to be a skirt there, a velvet skirt, velvet with raised roses on it. A summer boarder gave it to me once. I want that.” Hanley bent over the chest, feeling among the folded stuffs. “Here’s velvet.” He pulled it out. His mother seized it, and shook it out, a narrow strip of green, with painted pansies crumbing off the ends. “That’s my table cover, that I mind to use when company comes. It’s real pretty.” She folded it with care. “They’d ought to be a skirt there, velvet.” Hanley drew up something else, his face reddened from stooping. “This it?” He bent to stroke the cat, which had stirred from its pile in the corner and come to arch itself against his leg. “Well, pussy, what you want? Want we should go to bed?” Mrs. Whittle smoothed out the skirt. It was velvet, brown, brocaded, napless, spotted. “That’ll go with the basque. Do nicely. Brown for your hair and blue for your eyes.” She doubled her hands under the folds. “Hanley!” Her voice dropped into its rustling whisper. “I couldn’t let you go to sea. There’s some the sea wants and some it wouldn’t have. Him it wouldn’t—” She thrust a finger toward the door of the sitting room. “A good son you’ve been. I couldn’t have you go.” “No likelihood I’ll go now. I’m out of the way of it. Biding here ashore put me out of the way of it. I’m getting on too much to change my ways. No likelihood I’ll go to sea now.” “That voyage you shipped on—down the coast—I never closed my eyes while you was gone, only to pray. I never slept a mite. You made me suffer cruel. After you come home I never slept till I had your promise. You were set and stubborn, Hanley. You made me suffer cruel. Then you swore you’d give up following the sea. He was dreadful vexed——” Her finger jerked toward the door. “Wanted you should sign with him. And you only a boy, not grown into man’s strength yet. You swore you’d give it up. Hartwell lost at sea—and you pleading to go——” “There, mother.” Hanley rose and drew from the oven the browned birch logs. “Guess them has dried enough.” He pushed one into the stove and laid the rest on the hearth. “No use fretting over that. I stopped at home with you. No use fretting.” He drew one hand across his chin as he seated himself again. “I was set on going, I call to mind. Seems queer I was so set on going. That must be more’n forty years back. Coming of sea-faring folk, so, I felt I had to follow the sea. But I stopped home.” “A cruel hard life I saved you from.” Mrs. Whittle’s eyelids closed; her head lopped sidewise against her chair. The birch log within the stove burst into a little roar, splaying red light through the cracks in lid and stove front over her rigid figure, up over the whitewashed ceiling. Hanley watched her a moment, and then, sucking in his cheeks with a noisy sigh of relief, he began to replace in the chest the garments piled at his side. “She’s wore off her notion, maybe. I can coax her to lie down. She gets more notional.” He held the calico with its flowers close to his dull eyes. “They made things good in those times; ain’t scarcely faded.” As he pressed it into the box he paused, craning his head to look up at his mother. “She’s breaking up. Never spoke his name before. Never let it through her lips. They was enough said amongst the townsfolk. Her fancy man. But she never spoke his name before.” As he tucked the folds down at the corners, Mrs. Whittle’s hands twitched at the skirt she still held and her voice ran on before her eyelids lifted. “A hard life I saved you from. What you doing, Hanley? Don’t you go putting them back. There’s more I want.” “Now, mother, what you want is to go to bed. You’re all wore out.” Hanley laid his hands on the velvet skirt. “Let me put that away.” Her hands clung to the skirt. “They’d ought to be a hat there. A straw hat with posies and a piece of ribbon. Down underneath, keeping flat.” “What you want a straw hat for, tonight?” With a swift movement Mrs. Whittle crouched over the box, her hands digging into the layers of clothes. “There!” She dragged it up, breathless. “There—a real pretty hat—I knew I had it saved.” She held it out, an old poke bonnet of braided straw, with yellowed tatters of lace and flowers, and a long streamer of black ribbon. “Now that’s all I want.” She darted her arm out for the basque, and stood for an instant, hugging the garments against her body and making tiny inarticulate sounds of delight. “Now I got to dress me in them.” She spread skirt and basque on the back of her chair and laid the bonnet on the cot. “Mother!” Hanley got to his feet and stepped near her. “This ain’t sense. Night ain’t no time to dress yourself up. You ought to go to bed.” “You let me be.” Mrs. Whittle’s tone snapped. “You let me be. There’s things to do tonight. You don’t know.” She whispered again. “He does. That’s why he’s here! He don’t make no odds. He can’t prevent what’s to do.” She did not turn her head, but Hanley stared at the door into the sitting room, and then with a long sigh, sat down again. Mrs. Whittle held the basque across her bosom, laid it down, and fumbled at the buttons of her wrapper. Then she shook her head. “I’ll put ’em over this. It’s cold. And I might not be so full-favored as then. Brown for your hair——” She struggled with the skirt, her words lost beneath it as she dragged it over her head. “I ought to have a pin, Hanley.” She held the skirt about her crooked back and sides; it billowed and sagged, enveloping her grotesquely. “I got one. Here’s a pin.” She made the belt fast, doubling it across her withered, protruding abdomen. “I ought to make haste.” She pulled the basque about her shoulders, pawing with her hands for the sleeves. “He wouldn’t tarry long. He never felt too sure about me.” Her lips parted over her dry gums in a little grimace. “Never let them feel too sure.” She patted the basque down over her hollow bosom. “I ain’t so full. Blue for your eyes, he said.” She pulled at one of the bows. “Brown for your hair.” Her hand touched the straggling wisps of gray about her face. “Don’t it make my eyes bluer, Hanley? Blue ribbon——” “This ain’t sense,” repeated Hanley. “Tiring yourself and for no sense at all.” “Eh? Don’t you like blue? Some likes red better. Thick-skinned, blowsy girls. Your skin’s like a shell, cool-like and smooth. That’s what he said.” She held the basque across her breast, the sleeves wrinkling down her arms. Suddenly the clothes seemed to obliterate the dried body within them; they stood there alone, nothing human about them, not even the doddering gray head above them; they had put on, not life, but a macabre illusion of motion. “He’ll be there, if I make haste.” She reached for the bonnet, stumbling in the flowing skirt. “That goes on—so!” It shut down over her head, enclosing in its flattened curve the pointed chin and nose, the little eager eyes. “Now I got to go. Don’t you sit up for me, Hanley.” “Where you think you’re going, mother?” Hanley’s monotone had a new cadence of distress in its patient humoring. “This kind of a night? What ever is into you?” He edged along the cot until he had his shoulder against the door. “Hartwell never kept his last tryst——” Above the cot, between the windows, hung a small cracked mirror. Bending forward, Elizabeth Whittle strained to capture her reflection. “Never could see in that glass. The flaw in it always pictured you older.” She stood for a moment, her fingers touching her lips, her eyes wary. Then with her uneven, wavering step, she came to the end of the cot. “Now, mother, you can’t go outdoors.” Hanley rose, laying his hands on her arms. “You can’t! They ain’t no sense——” “Sh-h!” She glanced over her shoulder. “He’ll hear you.” “Father isn’t there!” Hanley pushed her backward with firm despair. “You lie down here. You’ve got you all excited. You lie down and I’ll cover you up.” “You let me be!” The ribbons on her bonnet quavered. “Hanley, you let me be. I’m going—you might as well know—I’m going to keep my tryst with Hartwell.” “He’s dead, mother. Lost at sea. You said he was dead.” She rocked unsteadily on her feet. Half lifting, half dragging her, Hanley got her onto the cot. For an instant she lay quiet, her breath making faint gurgles in her throat. “It’s—my heart—Hanley.” One hand pulled at a bow of ribbon under her chin. “Get me some water.” “Lie still. I’ll get you some.” Hanley crossed the kitchen. “You lie still. I’ll get some fresh. The pail’s empty. You lie still.” He went with awkward haste, out through the rear entry. Elizabeth Whittle lay quietly until the creak of the pump sounded. Then, with strange agility, she pushed herself erect, pulled at the outer door, and stood on the step. The snow gleamed white where the light fell through the windows and doorway; beyond it grayed and deepened into black, solid, motionless, frozen black. “They’d all keep me from my tryst,” she cried out. “All of ’em!” Steps behind her and a shout, “Mother!” She plunged forward, slipping on the second ice-covered step. The old bonnet slid along the surface of the snow with a little skithering noise before it rested, but the pile of clothes, brown and blue, had lost all motion. Transcriber’s Notes Transcribed from The Touchstone, vol. 7, June 1920, pp. 175-185. New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain. The original spelling and punctuation were mostly preserved. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "BLUE FOR YOUR EYES AND BROWN FOR YOUR HAIR" *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. START: FULL LICENSE THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license. Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg electronic works 1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. 1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. 1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when you share it without charge with others. 1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States. 1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: 1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed: This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. 1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. 1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. 1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg. 1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg License. 1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. 1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. 1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works provided that: • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works. • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work. • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. 1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. 1.F. 1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. 1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE. 1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem. 1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. 1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. 1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work, and (c) any Defect you cause. Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life. Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza #516, Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS. The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate. While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate. International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate. Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg electronic works Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org. This website includes information about Project Gutenberg, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.