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Fiction Books
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                                 CHAPTER I. "Boys, the mustangs will be up from the range this morning. Which of you want to go down to the corral with me?" "I do! I do!" exclaimed both in the same breath. "I spoke first," cried Hal. "No, you didn't; I spoke first myself," retorted Ned. "I say you didn't," rejoined Hal. Seeing that the dispute was likely to become a serious one, I...
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                by: 
                                Daisy Ashford                                
            
        
                                 The "owner of the copyright" guarantees that "The Young Visiters" is the unaided effort in fiction of an authoress of nine years. "Effort," however, is an absurd word to use, as you may see by studying the triumphant countenance of the child herself, which is here reproduced as frontispiece to her sublime work. This is no portrait of a writer who had to burn the oil at midnight...
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                                 Chapter I Vacation Plans Charley Russell sat before a table in the workshop in his father's back yard. In front of him were the shining instruments of his wireless outfit--his coupler, his condenser, his helix, his spark-gap, and the other parts, practically all of which he had made with his own hands. Ordinarily he would have looked at them fondly, but now he gave them hardly a thought. He was...
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                                 CHAPTER I. THE CALL TO WORK. "I'm afraid there'll be no more school for you now, Frank darling. Will you mind having to go to work?" "Mind it! Why, no, mother; not the least bit. I'm quite old enough, ain'tI?" "I suppose you are, dear; though I would like to have you stay at your lessons for one more year anyway. What kind of work would you like best?"...
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                                 The Camp of the Young Yagers. Near the confluence of the two great rivers of Southern Africaâthe Yellow and Orangeâbehold the camp of the âyoung yagers!â It stands upon the southern bank of the latter stream, in a grove of Babylonian willows, whose silvery foliage, drooping gracefully to the waterâs edge, fringes both shores of the noble river as far as the eye can reach. A...
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                                 HIS OWN PEOPLE "You never met Selwyn, did you?" "No, sir." "Never heard anything definite about his trouble?" insisted Gerard. "Oh, yes, sir!" replied young Erroll, "I've heard a good deal about it. Everybody has, you know." "Well, I don't know," retorted Austin Gerard irritably, "what 'everybody' has heard, but I suppose it's...
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                by: 
                                Evelyn Sharp                                
            
        
                                 CHAPTER IIN A LONDON SCHOOLROOM ‘It’s no good,’ sighed Barbara, looking disconsolately round the room; ‘we shall never get straight in time. Don’t you think we had better leave it, and let Auntie Anna see us as we really are? She will only be disappointed afterwards, if we begin by being tidy; and I don’t like disappointing people, do you?’ There was a shout of laughter when she finished...
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                by: 
                                John Esten Cooke                                
            
        
                                 HOW THREE PERSONS IN THIS HISTORY CAME BY THEIR NAMES. On a fine May morning in the year 1764,—that is to say, between the peace at Fontainebleau and the stamp act agitation, which great events have fortunately no connection with the present narrative,—a young man mounted on an elegant horse, and covered from head to foot with lace, velvet, and embroidery, stopped before a small house in the town...
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                                 The Sale of the Water-Lily And these would sometimes come, and cheerThe widow with a song,To let her feel a neighbor near,And wing an hour along. A pond, supplied by hidden springs,With lilies bordered round,Was found among the richest things,That blessed the widow's ground. She had, besides, a gentle brook,That wound the meadow through,Which from the pond its being took,And had its treasures too....
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                                 CHAPTER I GOING "IN" The midnight sun had set, but in a crotch between two snow-peaks it had kindled a vast caldron from which rose a mist of jewels, garnet and turquoise, topaz and amethyst and opal, all swimming in a sea of molten gold. The glow of it still clung to the face of the broad Yukon, as a flush does to the soft, wrinkled cheek of a girl just roused from deep sleep. Except for a...
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