Fiction Books

CHAPTER I Outside one of the park gates there was a little house. In the prosperous days of the La Sarthe it had been the land steward's—but when there was no longer any land to steward it had gone with the rest, and for several years had been uninhabited. One day in early spring Halcyone saw smoke coming out of the chimney. This was too interesting a fact not to be investigated; she resented... more...

The Ability to communicate ideas from one individual to another," said a professor of sociology to his class, "is the principal distinction between human beings and their brute forbears. The increase and refinement of this ability to communicate is an index of the degree of civilization of a people. The more civilized a people, the more perfect their ability to communicate, especially under... more...

We have our prejudices in England.  Or, if that assertion offends any of my readers, I will modify it: we have had our prejudices in England.  We have tortured Jews; we have burnt Catholics and Protestants, to say nothing of a few witches and wizards.  We have satirized Puritans, and we have dressed-up Guys.  But, after all, I do not think we have been so bad as our Continental friends.  To be... more...

THE RIDER OF THE BLACK HORSE The trail from the Diamond K broke around the base of a low hill dotted thickly with scraggly oak and fir, then stretched away, straight and almost level (except for a deep cut where the railroad gang and a steam shovel were eating into a hundred-foot hill) to Manti. A month before, there had been no Manti, and six months before that there had been no railroad. The railroad... more...

THE DONATION PARTY Brother Meaker rose from his pew and looked at Jason appraisingly. "I don't know, brethren," he said. "Of course, he's a growing boy. Just turned twelve, didn't you say, ma'am?" Jason's mother nodded faintly without looking up, and Brother Meaker went on. "As I said, he's a growing boy, but he's dark and wiry. And I've... more...

I I was on a French steamer bound from Havre to New York, when I had a peculiar experience in the way of a shipwreck. On a dark and foggy night, when we were about three days out, our vessel collided with a derelict--a great, heavy, helpless mass, as dull and colorless as the darkness in which she was enveloped. We struck her almost head on, and her stump of a bowsprit was driven into our port bow with... more...

The primary need of a woman's nature is always supposed to be love, but very suddenly I discovered that in my case it was money, a lot of it and quick. That is, I thought I needed a lot and in a very great hurry; but if I had known what I know now, I might have been contented feeding upon the bread of some kind of charity, for instance, like being married to Matthew Berry the very next day after I... more...

A PRIMER OF IMAGINARY GEOGRAPHY "Ship ahoy!" There was an answer from our bark—for such it seemed to me by this time—but I could not make out the words. "Where do you hail from?" was the next question. I strained my ears to catch the response, being naturally anxious to know whence I had come. "From the City of Destruction!" was what I thought I heard; and I confess that it... more...

THE PILGRIM'S VISION IN the hour of twilight shadowsThe Pilgrim sire looked out;He thought of the "bloudy Salvages"That lurked all round about,Of Wituwamet's pictured knifeAnd Pecksuot's whooping shout;For the baby's limbs were feeble,Though his father's arms were stout. His home was a freezing cabin,Too bare for the hungry rat;Its roof was thatched with ragged... more...

The First Hour When I was actually experiencing the thrill, it came delightfully, however, blended with a threat that proclaimed the imminent consequence of dismay. I appreciated the coming of the thrill, as a rare and unexpected “dramatic moment.” I savoured and enjoyed it as a real adventure suddenly presented in the midst of the common business of life. I imaginatively transplanted the scene... more...