Fiction Books

Persia is rich in folk lore. For hundreds and hundreds of years the stories in this book, and many others as well, have been told to the wondering boys and girls of that country, who, as they hear them, picture their native land as one of roses and tulips, where beautiful fairies build their castles in the rosy morn, and black gnomes fly around in the darkness of midnight. A land, too, where the sun... more...

THE DUMB MAN There is a story.—I cannot tell it.—I have no words. The story is almost forgotten but sometimes I remember. The story concerns three men in a house in a street. If I could say the words I would sing the story. I would whisper it into the ears of women, of mothers. I would run through the streets saying it over and over. My tongue would be torn loose—it would rattle against my teeth.... more...

CHAPTER I The Tuft of Hair “Let’s hope the horrible nightmare is over, dearest,” whispered Ellen Estabrook to Lee Bentley as their liner came crawling up through the Narrows and the Statue of Liberty greeted the two with uplifted torch beyond Staten Island. New York’s skyline was beautiful through the mist and smoke which always seemed to mask it. It was good to be home again. Once more Lee... more...

CHAPTER I. PROLOGUE. To-day I am at home in the little town of the fens, where the Ahwewee River falls some thirty feet from one level of land to another. Both broad levels were covered with forest of ash and maple, spruce and tamarack; but long ago, some time in the thirties, impious hands built dams on the impetuous Ahwewee, and wide marshes and drowned wood-lands are the result. Yet just immediately... more...

PROLOGUE Several years had elapsed since I had found the opportunity to do any big-game hunting; for at last I had my plans almost perfected for a return to my old stamping-grounds in northern Africa, where in other days I had had excellent sport in pursuit of the king of beasts. The date of my departure had been set; I was to leave in two weeks. No schoolboy counting the lagging hours that must pass... more...

TALE XXXI. A monastery of Grey Friars was burned down, with the monksthat were in it, as a perpetual memorial of the crueltypractised by one among them that was in love with a lady. In the lands subject to the Emperor Maximilian of Austria (1) there was a monastery of Grey Friars that was held in high repute, and nigh to it stood the house of a gentleman who was so kindly disposed to these monks that... more...

THE STORM. The Laughing Mary was a light ship, as sailors term a vessel that stands high upon the water, having discharged her cargo at Callao, from which port we were proceeding in ballast to Cape Town, South Africa, there to call for orders. Our run to within a few parallels of the latitude of the Horn had been extremely pleasant; the proverbial mildness of the Pacific Ocean was in the mellow... more...

TRAGEDY FOR NELLIE “Just one more dive,” pleaded Penny, climbing nimbly up the rungs of the bright brass ladder. “Then make it snappy,” commanded Louise Sidell, a dark-haired girl in a blue bathing suit. She sighed and sank down on the edge of the tiled swimming pool. “We have to dress and get out of here sometime, you know. I promised Mother I’d stop at the doll shop.” “Oh, we still... more...

PART ONE In the fierce airless heat of the small square room the child Judith panted as she lay on her bed. Her father and mother slept near her, drowned in the heavy slumber of workers after their day's labour. Some people in the next flat were quarrelling, irritated probably by the appalling heat and their miserable helplessness against it. All the hot emanations of the sun-baked city streets... more...

This is the story of a courageous woman who sacrifices her personal desires and short-term gains to achieve a greater goal. Her journey is one of struggle, sacrifice, and self-discovery.