CHAPTER I CHASING THE DUCK "Suah's yo' lib, we do keep a-movin'!" cried Dinah, as she climbed into the big depot wagon. "We didn't forget Snoop this time," exclaimed Freddie, following close on Dinah's heels, with the box containing Snoop, his pet cat, who always went traveling with the little fellow. "I'm glad I covered up the ferns with wet paper," Flossie remarked, "for this sun would surely kill them if it could get at them." "Bert, you... more...

CHAPTER I THE GYPSIES "Oh, dear! I wish we weren't going home!" "So do I! Can't we stay out a little while longer?" "Why, Flossie and Freddie Bobbsey!" cried Nan, the older sister of the two small twins who had spoken. "A few minutes ago you were in a hurry to get home." "Yes; they said they were so hungry they couldn't wait to see what Dinah was going to have for supper," said Bert Bobbsey. "How about that, Freddie?" "Well, I'm hungry... more...

CHAPTER I ON THE WAY "All aboard!" The hoarse voice of Captain MacLaren boomed out like a fog horn, waking a clatter of echoes among the tall cliffs on the opposite shore of the river, and sending the seventy-five girls on the dock all skurrying for the Carribou's gangplank at once. "Hurry up, Hinpoha! We're getting left behind." Agony strained forward on the suitcase she was helping Hinpoha to carry down the hill and endeavored to catch up... more...

I. THE KING'S CHILDREN. There was once, in Christendom, a little kingdom where the people were pious and simple-hearted. In their simplicity they held for true many things at which people of great kingdoms smile. One of these things was what is called the "Golden Age." There was not a peasant in the villages, nor a citizen in the cities, who did not believe in the Golden Age. If they happened to hear of anything great that had been done in... more...

KIT AND KAT This is a picture of Kit and Kat. They are Twins, and they live in Holland. Kit is the boy, and Kat is the girl. Of course their real names are not Kit and Kat at all. Their real names are Christopher and Katrina. But you can see for yourself that such long names as that would never in the world fit such a short pair of Twins. So the Twins' Mother, Vrouw Vedder, said, "They cannot be called Christopher and Katrina until they are... more...

CHAPTER I The Million-Dollar Gimmick Rick Brant stretched luxuriously and slid down to a half-reclining, half-sitting position in his dad's favorite library armchair. He called, "Barby! Hurry up!" Don Scott looked up from his adjustment of the television picture. "What's the rush? The show hasn't started yet." Rick explained, "She likes the commercials." A moment later Barbara Brant appeared in the doorway, hastily finishing a doughnut. Rick... more...

That sunny afternoon in May,How stealthily we crept away,We three—(Good things are done in threes:That is, good things in threes are doneWhen you make two and I make one.)—To hatch our small conspiracies! Between the blossomy apple-trees(You recollect?) we sped, and thenSafe in the green heart of the woodWe breathed again.The purple flood the bluebells madeWashed round about us where we stood,While voices, where the others... more...

BLACK EYES AND BLUE. A dreary little group was trudging along a Swedish highroad one bright October morning. It was a union between north and south, and like many other unions, not altogether founded on love. The bear, the prominent member of the party, was a Swede, and a Swede in a very bad humour. The iron ring in his torn nose, and the stout stick in the hand of one of his Italian masters, showed very plainly that he needed stern discipline.... more...

HONOR BRIGHT, PRESIDENT When Honor Bright went to live in the country the very first thing he asked for was some real live geese, to join the chickens, and the pussy, and the rabbits already on the farm. "Will you remember to feed them every day, son, if I get you a pair?" asked his father. "Yes, papa," said the little boy. "Honor bright!" When he promised "Honor bright," he always kept his word. And he said "Honor bright" so many times a... more...

The Grateful Indian, A Tale of Rupert’s Land. By William H.G. Kingston. We cannot boast of many fine evenings in old England—dear old England for all that!—and when they do come they are truly lovely and worthy of being prized the more. It was on one of the finest of a fine summer that Mr Frampton, the owner of a beautiful estate in Devonshire, was seated on a rustic bench in his garden, his son Harry, who stood at his knee,... more...