George Manville Fenn

A Feather in his Cap. “Oh, I say, what a jolly shame!” “Get out; it’s all gammon. Likely.” “I believe it’s true. Dick Darrell’s a regular pet of Sir George Hemsworth.” “Yes; the old story—kissing goes by favour.” “I shall cut the service. It’s rank favouritism.” “I shall write home and tell my father to get the thing shown... more...

Why we were there. The captain of the steamer stopped by where I was watching the flying fish fizz out of the blue-ink-like water, skim along for some distance, and drop in again, often, I believe, to be snapped up by some bigger fish; and he gave me a poke in the shoulder with one finger, so hard, that it hurt. “Yes?” I said, for he stood looking hard in my face, while I looked back harder in his,... more...

One Afternoon. “I say, don’t, Green: let the poor things alone!” “You mind your own business. Oh! bother the old thorns!” Brian Green snatched his hand out of the quickset hedge into which he had thrust it, to reach the rough outside of a nest built by a bird, evidently in the belief that the hawthorn leaves would hide it from sight, and while they were growing the thorns would protect it... more...

A Daughter of Eve. “Mother!” There was no reply, and once again rose from the bed in the prettily-furnished room the same word—“Mother!” The wild, appealing, anguished cry of offspring to parent, seeming to ask for help—protection—forgiveness—the tenderness of the mother-heart to its young, and still there was no answer. The speaker struggled up so that she rested on her elbow, the... more...

Chapter One. How We Got There. “But what are we going for?” If he had not been so much of a gentleman, I should have said that the half-closing of his left eye and its rapid reopening had been a wink; as it was, we will say it was not. The next moment, he had thrown himself back in his chair, smiled, and said, quietly. “Not yet, captain—not yet. I’ll tell you by-and-by. At present it is my... more...

Chapter One. “You’re another.” “So are you.” “I am, am I?” “Yes; a cocky overbearing bully. You want your comb cut, Gil Vincent.” “Cut it, then, you miserable humbug. Take that.” Crack—thud! My fist went home on Morton’s cheek, and almost simultaneously his flew out and struck me in the ribs. Crack—thud! Morton’s return sounding like an echo of my blow. There was a buzz of... more...

A break-down. “It’s a lie! I don’t and I won’t believe it.” The speaker half whispered that, and then he shouted, “Do you hear?” There was a pause, and then from the face of a huge white snow-cliff there came back the word “hear.” “Well done, echo!” cried the speaker. “Echo,” came back. “Thankye; that’s quite cheering; anything’s better than that horrible silence. What... more...

How Spring was Coming. “Hallo, old Yellowbill! what’s brought you out so early?” said a fine fat thrush, one bright spring morning, stopping for a moment to look at his companion, and leaving the great broken-shelled snail he had rooted out of the ivy bush curling about upon the gravel path. “Hallo, old Yellowbill! what’s brought you out so early?” “What’s that to you, old... more...

A High Family. “Con-found those organs!” said the Earl of Barmouth. “And frustrate their grinders,” cried Viscount Diphoos. “They are such a nuisance, my boy.” “True, oh sire,” replied the viscount, who had the heels of his patent leather shoes on the library chimney-piece of the town mansion in Portland Place. He had reached that spot with difficulty, and was smoking a cigar, to calm... more...

“Can you use a Sword?” “Yes! What is it?” “Hist, boy! Jump up and dress.” “Oh, it’s you, father!” said the newly aroused sleeper, slipping out of bed—or, rather, off his bed, for the heat of an Eastern China night had made him dispense with bedclothes. He made a frantic dash at his trousers, feeling confused and strange in the darkness, and hardly... more...