Fiction Books

It is now thirteen years since the first publication of "Calavar," which, apart from the ordinary objects of an author, was written chiefly with a view of illustrating what was deemed the most romantic and poetical chapter in the history of the New World; but partly, also, with the hope of calling the attention of Americans to a portion of the continent which it required little political... more...

Chapter I A humming-bird dipped through the air and lit upon the palm-tree just below the open window; the long drowsy call of a crowing cock came from afar off; the sun spun down in the subdued splendor of a hazy veil. It was a dustless, hence an anomalous, summer's afternoon in San Francisco. Ruth Levice sat near the window, lazily rocking, her long lithe arms clasped about her knees, her face a... more...

CHAPTER I. MEN OF THE OLD RÉGIME. "'See Naples, and then die!' That was a proud saying, Count, which we used to hear as we cruised under lateen sails about the glorious bay that reflects from its waters the fires of Vesuvius. We believed the boast then, Count. But I say now, 'See Quebec, and live forever!' Eternity would be too short to weary me of this lovely scene—this... more...

I I know that in writing the following pages I am divulging the great secret of my life, the secret which for some years I have guarded far more carefully than any of my earthly possessions; and it is a curious study to me to analyze the motives which prompt me to do it. I feel that I am led by the same impulse which forces the un-found-out criminal to take somebody into his confidence, although he... more...

CHAPTER I. "Go down, grandfather: I will watch." But the old man to whom the entreaty was addressed shook his shaven head. "Yet you can get no rest here.... "And the stars? And the tumult below? Who can think of rest in hours like these? Throw my cloak around me! Rest—on such a night of horror!" "You are shivering. And how your hand and the instrument are shaking."... more...

CHAPTER I. “Well, little friend, and where do you hail from?” The speaker was a merry-faced, brown-eyed boy of eleven, with curly brown hair—just the school-boy all over. He had leaped into a railway carriage with cricket-bat, fishing-rod, and a knowing-looking little hamper, which he deposited on the seat beside him; then away went the snorting steam horse, train, people, and all, and out came... more...

Pleasant Receptions. “Ax.” “I was asking, or axing, as you call it, my man. I said, Is that Dumford, down there in the valley?” “And I said axe, or arks, as you call it, my man,” was the surly, defiant reply. The last speaker looked up savagely from the block of stone on which he was seated, and the questioner looked down from where he stood on the rough track. There was a quiet,... more...

CHAPTER I Penny Nichols, hair flying in the wind, came running up the steps of the Altman porch. She did not need to ring the bell, for just at that moment Susan, her dark-haired chum, appeared in the open doorway. "Why, hello, Penny," greeted the Altman girl. "You're all out of breath." "I ran most of the way from home," replied Penny. "I was hoping you'd drop in... more...

CHAPTER I THE DRY DOCK "She's movin'!" cried a voice from the crowd on the wharf side. "Watch 'er! Watch 'er!" A dull English cheer rippled over the waterfront. "Blarst if I see why she moves!" marveled an onlooker. "That tug looks like a water bug 'itched to a 'ouse-boat—it's hunreasonable!" "Aye, but they're tur'ble... more...

In the southern part of the Mojave Desert a low hill stands somewhat apart from the foot-hills beyond, and back of it. Although not more than two hundred feet above the surrounding plateau, on account of its peculiar location, a commanding view may be had from its top. In front, toward the south, and extending all the way from east to west, the plain stretches off for many miles, until it approaches... more...