Fiction Books

CHAPTER I. In the western part of Pennsylvania, near the commencement of the Ohio river, stands a small town, which, at the close of the last century, numbered about thirty dwellings. Although properly a border settlement at the time mentioned, there were so many others beyond, that it was hardly regarded as being in the "Mighty West." The inhabitants were mostly farmers, possessed of large and... more...

CHAPTER I A HEAD BETWEEN THE BUSHES "They've done it!" "What?" "The German frontier-post ... at the circus of the Butte-aux-Loups." "What about it?" "Knocked down." "Nonsense!" "See for yourself." Old Morestal stepped aside. His wife came out of the drawing-room and went and stood by the telescope, on its tripod, at the end of the terrace.... more...

THE FROG PRINCE. IN the olden time, when wishing was having, there lived a King, whose daughters were all beautiful; but the youngest was so exceedingly beautiful that the Sun himself, although he saw her very often, was enchanted every time she came out into the sunshine. Near the castle of this King was a large and gloomy forest, and in the midst stood an old lime-tree, beneath whose branches... more...

Against the blackness of the early morning sky the huge ball traced an arc of flame. Had Karn been watching the sky he would have seen the ball slow in its descent and then come to a landing some distance ahead of him. But he was too busy for that. On the back of his neck the short hairs told him that pursuit was still close behind. He put on a fresh burst of speed, his bare feet making no sound on the... more...

I. THE CHURCH AND THE PEOPLE The sunlight of the clear September afternoon shone across the roofs of the City of Rheims, and fell in a yellow flood upon the towers of the most beautiful cathedral in the world, turning them into two shining golden pillars against the deep blue of the eastern sky. The streets below were already in shadow, but the sunshine still poured through the great rose window above... more...

CHAPTER I.—THE ARRIVAL. The tramp of feet was heard one afternoon late in the Autumn of 1808, on the road that leads from Peterborough to Yaxley.  A body of men, four abreast, and for the most part in the garb and with the bearing of soldiers, was marching along.  But the sight was not exhilarating.  The swing and springy step of soldiers on the march is always a pleasant sight; but there was a... more...

CHAPTER I INTRODUCTION I address the reader as living in the land from which the pioneers of France went out to America; first, because I wrote these chapters in that land, a few steps from the Seine; second, because I should otherwise have to assume the familiarity of the reader with much that I have gathered into these chapters, though the reader may have forgotten or never known it; and, third,... more...

FLINGING THE GAUNTLET “Then you insist on ruining me, Mr. Bissell?” Bud Larkin, his hat pushed back on his head, looked unabashed at the scowling heavy features of the man opposite in the long, low room, and awaited a reply. “I don’t want to ruin anybody,” puffed old “Beef” Bissell, whose cattle overran most of the range between the Gray Bull and the Big Horn. “But I allow as how them... more...

Chapter One. Volunteers for Texas. “I’ll go!” This laconism came from the lips of a young man who was walking along the Levee of New Orleans. Just before giving utterance to it he had made a sudden stop, facing a dead wall, enlivened, however, by a large poster, on which were printed, in conspicuous letters, the words— “Volunteers for Texas!” Underneath, in smaller type, was a proclamation,... more...

When the voice over the telephone promised to name the man who killed Hermann Banf, District Attorney Wharton was up-town lunching at Delmonico's. This was contrary to his custom and a concession to Hamilton Cutler, his distinguished brother-in-law. That gentleman was interested in a State constabulary bill and had asked State Senator Bissell to father it. He had suggested to the senator that, in... more...