CAPTAIN BILL BROOM "What devilment has old Bill got on for tonight, Pete?" The speaker was seated on an old scarred sea chest in a dimly lighted forecastle. "I dunno," replied Pete, "maybe he's lookin' fer a wreck." "I heard the mate say somethin' about a passel of four boys," put in a third man who was laying back in his bunk, "that the skipper was a-lookin' for." "Kidnapping, eh?" said Cales, the first speaker. "Hold 'em for ransom, I... more...

CHAPTER I A Perilous Ride "I trust no harm has happened to my father, Jacques. The night grows late and there are strange rumours afloat. 'Tis said that the Guises are eager to break the peace." "Better open warfare than this state of things, monsieur. The peace is no peace: the king's troops are robbing and slaying as they please. François of the mill told me a pretty tale of their doings to-day. But listen, I hear the beat of hoofs on... more...

Chapter One. On the March. Trrt—trrt—trrt. Just that little sound, as the sticks flirted with the drumheads to keep the men in step; for Her Majesty’s 404th Fusiliers were marching “easy.” So it was called; and it meant with the men smoking, and carrying their rifles as they pleased—shouldered, at the trail, slung muzzle up or muzzle down. But, all the same, it was a miserable fiction to call it marching... more...

CHAPTER I A CONFERENCE AT BONNYDALE "Well, Christy, how do you feel this morning?" asked Captain Passford, one bright morning in April, at Bonnydale on the Hudson, the residence of the former owner of the Bellevite, which he had presented to the government. "Quite well, father; I think I never felt any better in all my life," replied Lieutenant Passford, of the United States Navy, recently commander of the little gunboat Bronx, on board of... more...

SERIOUS NEWS "As long as I can't be at home," said Harry Fleming, "I'd rather be here than anywhere in the world I can think of!" "Rather!" said his companion, Dick Mercer. "I say, Harry, it must be funny to be an American!" Harry laughed heartily. "I'd be angry, Dick," he said, finally, "if that wasn't so English—and so funny! Still, I suppose that's one reason you Britishers are as big an empire as you are. You think it's sort of... more...

MAKING CANDY. Grace and Horace Clifford lived in Indiana, and so were called "Hoosiers." Their home, with its charming grounds, was a little way out of town, and from the front windows of the house you could look out on the broad Ohio, a river which would be very beautiful, if its yellow waters were only once settled. As far as the eye could see, the earth was one vast plain, and, in order to touch it, the sky seemed to stoop very low; whereas,... more...

CHAPTER I. WESTMINSTER! WESTMINSTER!     CRIPPLE boy was sitting in a box on four low wheels, in a little room in a small street in Westminster; his age was some fifteen or sixteen years; his face was clear-cut and intelligent, and was altogether free from the expression either of discontent or of shrinking sadness so often seen in the face of those afflicted. Had he been sitting on a chair at a table, indeed, he would have been... more...

CHAPTER I "But I say it's not fair!" cried a red-headed lad, drawing himself up to his full height. "You're not playing fair with us!" "Ach, it is not so!" protested the one to whom the boy spoke. "We find you an enemy in our city, and you must take the consequences!" "Just because you wear an officer's uniform," retorted the boy, beginning to lose his temper and gazing fearlessly into the pale blue eyes of the other, "is no sign you know more... more...

CHAPTER I THE GORED COW For lack of a better listener, Betty Gordon addressed the saucy little chipmunk that sat on the top rail of the old worn fence and stared at her with bright, unwinking eyes. "It is the loveliest vase you ever saw," said Betty, busily sorting the tangled mass of grasses and flowers in her lap. "Heavy old colonial glass, you know, plain, but with beautiful lines." The chipmunk continued to regard her gravely. "I found... more...

CHAPTER I FIGHTING AGAINST ODDS "The Huns are coming!" exclaimed Frank Sheldon, as from the American front line his keen, gray eyes searched a broad belt of woodland three hundred yards away. "Bad habit they have," drawled his special chum and comrade, Bart Raymond, running his finger along the edge of his bayonet. "We'll have to try to cure them of it." "I think they're getting over it to some extent," remarked Tom Bradford, who stood at... more...