Fiction Books

CHAPTER I "Oh Shawn!" It was a shrill voice calling from the bank above the river. "You can holler till dark, but I ain't goin' to answer you while a blue-channel cat is nibblin' at this line." Through the short and chubby fingers a stout sea-grass line was running out to the accumulated driftwood in the eddy below the wharf-boat. Suddenly there came a spasmodic jerk of... more...

HEMP The Anglo-Saxon farmers had scarce conquered foothold, stronghold, freehold in the Western wilderness before they became sowers of hemp—with remembrance of Virginia, with remembrance of dear ancestral Britain. Away back in the days when they lived with wife, child, flock in frontier wooden fortresses and hardly ventured forth for water, salt, game, tillage—in the very summer of that wild... more...

A STRANGER AND A PROMISE The rabbit bounded away and was lost in the underbrush. Steve stood looking disgustedly after him, a limp figure, one shoulder dropping until the old knit suspender fell at his side, and a sullen, discouraged look settling in his brown eyes. “I ain’ no hunter noways. Peers lack I don’t even know ’nough to ketch a rabbit,” he said with scorn. “Whar’s that lazy Tige... more...

A MIDSUMMER freshet was running over old Gabe Bunch's water-wheel into the Cumberland. Inside the mill Steve Marcum lay in one dark corner with a slouched hat over his face. The boy Isom was emptying a sack of corn into the hopper. Old Gabe was speaking his mind. Always the miller had been a man of peace; and there was one time when he thought the old Stetson-Lewallen feud was done. That was when... more...

In all the story of the world of man, Who blazed the way to greater, better things? Who stopped the long migration of wild men, And set the noble task of building human homes? The learned recluse? The forum teacher? The poet-singer? The soldier, voyager, Or ruler? ’T was none of this proud line. The man who digged the ground foretold the destiny Of men. ’T was he made anchor for the heart; Gave... more...

THE SIEUR LOUIS DE CONTE To his Great-Great-Grand Nephews and Nieces This is the year 1492. I am eighty-two years of age. The things I am going to tell you are things which I saw myself as a child and as a youth. In all the tales and songs and histories of Joan of Arc, which you and the rest of the world read and sing and study in the books wrought in the late invented art of printing, mention is made... more...

CHAPTER I—HOW THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN, AND HOW NORMAN LESLIE FLED OUT OF FIFE It is not of my own will, nor for my own glory, that I, Norman Leslie, sometime of Pitcullo, and in religion called Brother Norman, of the Order of Benedictines, of Dunfermline, indite this book.  But on my coming out of France, in the year of our Lord One thousand four hundred and fifty-nine, it was laid on me by my... more...

28 Joan Foretells Her Doom THE TROOPS must have a rest. Two days would be allowed for this. The morning of the 14th I was writing from Joan's dictation in a small room which she sometimes used as a private office when she wanted to get away from officials and their interruptions. Catherine Boucher came in and sat down and said: "Joan, dear, I want you to talk to me." "Indeed, I am not... more...

CHAPTER ONE POLATKIN & SCHEIKOWITZ CONSERVE THE HONOUR OF THEIR FAMILIES "NU, PHILIP," cried Marcus Polatkin to his partner, Philip Scheikowitz, as they sat in the showroom of their place of business one June morning, "even if the letter does got bad news in it you shouldn't take on so hard. When a feller is making good over here and the Leute im Russland hears about it, understand... more...

This book suggests that the real Pharaoh of the Exodus was not Meneptah or Merenptah, son of Rameses the Great, but the mysterious usurper, Amenmeses, who for a year or two occupied the throne between the death of Meneptah and the accession of his son the heir-apparent, the gentle-natured Seti II. Of the fate of Amenmeses history says nothing; he may well have perished in the Red Sea or rather the Sea... more...