CHAPTER I. Read by Greg Giordano. Grace Fanhall. Read by Christine Rucker. George Hollenden. Read by Beeswax Candle. Florinda. Read by Jen Broda. Pinoy. Read by Laurie Wilson. Rinkos. Read by Adrian Stevens. Great Grief. Read by Karma Emmings. John Harker. Read by Todd. Mother Hawker. Read by Lynette Calkins. Mary, the younger Hawker sister. Read by Nora Nelson. Older Hawker sister. Read by Sunny. Younger Worcester girl. Millicent. Read by Agnes Robert -Bare. Elder Worcester girl. Read by Winifred Aspen. Lucien Pontiac. Read by Major Toast. Burple Sanderson. Read by Brian Fullen. Mr. Oglethorpe. Read by David Purdy. Mrs. Trascott. Read by Clanga County. Gossiper I. Read by Newgate Novelist. D. Second Gossiper. Read by Nora Nelson. Gossiper III. Read by Red Run. Gossiper number four. Read by Marie Christian. Gossiper V. Read by Stunning. Nursemaid. Read by Claude Agalte. Roger. Read by Nora Nelson. Roger's mother. Read by Daniella Gura. Stagecoach driver. Read by Major Toast. Kashir. Read by David Purdy. Extras. Read by Claude Agalte. Narration. Read by Chuck Williamson. The Third Violet. By Stephen Crane. Chapter One. The engine bellowed its way up the slanting, winding valley. Gray crags and trees with roots fastened cleverly to the steeps. Looked down at the struggles of the black monster. When the train finally released its passengers, they burst forth with the enthusiasm of escaping convicts. A great bustle ensued on the platform of the Little Mountain Station. The idlers and philosophers from the village were present to examine the consignment of people from the city. These latter, loaded with bundles and children, thronged at the stage drivers. The stage drivers thronged at the people from the city. Hawker, with his clothes case, his paint box, his easel, climbed awkwardly down the steps of the car. The easel swung uncontrolled and knocked against the head of a little boy who was disembarking backward with fine caution. Hello, little man, said Hawker. Did it hurt? The child regarded him in silence and with sudden interest, as if Hawker had called his attention to a phenomenon. The young painter was politely waiting until the little boy should conclude his examination. But a voice behind him cried, Oh, Jerk, calm down. A nursemaid was conducting a little girl where she would probably be struck by the other end of the easel. The boy resumed his cautious descent. The stage drivers made such great noise as a collection that, as individuals, their identities were lost. With a highly important air, as a man proud of being so busy, the baggage man of the train was thundering trunks at the other employees on the platform. Hawker, prowling through the crowd, heard a voice near his shoulder say, Do you know where is the stage for himlock in? Hawker turned and found a young woman regarding him. A wave of astonishment whirled into his hair, and he turned his eyes quickly for fear that she would think that he had looked at her. He said,