Fiction Books

"I am getting very tired," said a hard brain-worker to me once. "Life is beginning to drag and lose its zest." This is an experience that can scarcely happen to one who has fallen in love with Nature, or become deeply interested in any of her almost infinite manifestations. Mr. and Mrs. Clifford of my story are not wholly the creations of fancy. The aged man sketched in the following... more...

THE ANCIENT HOME OF THE SESHAHTS To the lone Indian, who slowly paddles his canoe upon the waters of this western sound, each tree of different kind by shade of green and shape of crown is known; the Toh-a-mupt or Sitca spruce with scaley bark and prickly spine; the feathery foliage of the Quilth-kla-mupt, the western hemlock, relieved in spring by the light green of tender shoots. The frond-like... more...

The volume of which the following pages are a translation, has been adopted by the University Commission at Paris among their prize books, and has reached an eighth edition. Perhaps these facts speak sufficiently in its favor; but as translator, and to some extent editor, I wish to add my testimony to the great charm as well as merit of the little work. I sat down to it, I must own, with no special... more...

The novella delves into several key points:  Never believe in someone blindly; ensure their trustworthiness before placing your faith in them to avoid disappointment.  If someone trusts you, strive to maintain that trust and never betray the faith they have in you.  Avoid unnecessarily complicated relationships due to misunderstandings or rash judgments.  Cultivate a strong character that withstands... more...

CHAPTER I HARPWOOD AND LOCKWIN Esther Wandrell, of Chicago, will be worth millions of dollars. It is a thought that inspires the young men of all the city with momentous ambitions. Why does she wait so long? Whom does she favor? To-night the carriages are trolling and rumbling to the great mansion of the Wandrells on Prairie Avenue. The women are positive in their exclamations of reunion, and this... more...

She was a young, enthusiastic worker for the Welfare Department. She liked helping people ... only she really-but-good helped them! The office wasn't very bright or sunny, but that didn't matter. In the first place, if Gloria really wanted sun, she could always get some by tuning in on a mind outside, someone walking the streets of downtown New York. And, in the second place, the weather... more...

CHAPTER I A Misty evening in mid-October; a top room in one of the small dingy houses on the north side of Moon Street, its floor partially covered with pieces of drugget carpet trodden into rags; for furniture, an iron bed placed against the wall, a deal cupboard or wardrobe, a broken iron cot in a corner, a wooden box and three or four chairs, and a small square deal table; on the table one candle in... more...

CHAPTER IWHY THE PRINCESS HAS A STORY ABOUT HERTHERE was once a little princess who—"But, Mr. Author, why do you always write about princesses?" "Because every little girl is a princess." "You will make them vain if you tell them that." "Not if they understand what I mean." "Then what do you mean?" "What do you mean by a princess?" "The daughter... more...

CHAPTER I MARY I have never dared even inquire why our best man began calling my husband the Angel. He was with us a great deal during the first months of our marriage, and he is very observing, so I decided to let sleeping dogs lie. I, too, am observing. It is only fair to state, in justice to the best man, that I am a woman of emotional mountain peaks and dark, deep valleys, while the Angel is one... more...

"Flat-chested Faye, flat-chested Faye," chanted the girls on the table next to Faye and Rebecca's. The large hall smelled of cabbages, potatoes and baked beans, and everyone else was talking and eating and moving chairs so loudly that Faye could hardly hear herself think. "Just ignore them," suggested Rebecca. Faye didn't say anything. She opened her lunchbox and fished around... more...