Fiction Books

THE SUNDERING FLOOD Chapter I. Of a River Called the Sundering Flood, and of the Folk that Dwelt Thereby It is told that there was once a mighty river which ran south into the sea, and at the mouth thereof was a great and rich city, which had been builded and had waxed and thriven because of the great and most excellent haven which the river aforesaid made where it fell into the sea. And now it was... more...

The Great Chelsea Fire On Sunday April 12, 1908, at about 11 o’clock A. M., an alarm was rung in for a fire in the works of the Boston Blacking Co. on West 3rd St., near the Everett line. The fire department responded immediately and succeeded in putting out the fire with but very little damage, but the forty-mile gale that was blowing at the time carried sparks from the fire to nearby houses, and... more...

The wooded hills and pastures of eastern Massachusetts are so close to Boston that from upper windows of the city, looking westward, you can see the tops of pine-trees and orchard-boughs on the high horizon. There is a rustic environment on the landward side; there are old farmhouses at the back of Milton Hill and beyond Belmont which look as unchanged by the besieging suburbs of a great city as if... more...

CHAPTER I THE QUARRY "An Elephant of Rock, I have lain here in the desert for countless ages, watching, waiting. I wonder for what!" Musings of the Elephant. Little Jim sat at the quarry edge and dangled his legs over the derrick pit. The derrick was out of commission because once more the lift cable had parted. Big Jim Manning, Little Jim's father, was down in the pit with Tomasso, his... more...

Pheasant Shooting.See the Fowler takes his aim,To bring down the feather'd game;September Season is the time,When these birds are in full prime. London. Printed, Published & Sold by W. Belch, Newington Butts. How happy & frisky the Rabbits appear,Prancing & skipping without any fear;But alas, their enjoyment is like to be short,By the aim of a Gunner who seeks them for sport. Badger... more...

I THE MAN WITH THE NAILED SHOES There are, I suppose, few places even on the East Coast of England more lonely and remote than the village of Little Sundersley and the country that surrounds it. Far from any railway, and some miles distant from any considerable town, it remains an outpost of civilization, in which primitive manners and customs and old-world tradition linger on into an age that has... more...

I. SIOUX CEREMONIES, SCALP DANCE, &c. The Sioux occupy a country from the Mississippi river to some point west of the Missouri, and from the Chippewa tribe on the north, to the Winnebago on the south; the whole extent being about nine hundred miles long by four hundred in breadth. Dahcotah is the proper name of this once powerful tribe of Indians. The term Sioux is not recognized, except among... more...

I wish Max would treat me like a woman. An hour ago, at dinner, John Armitage proposed a toast, especially for my benefit. He loves to play the gallant. Big man, silver mane, very blue eyes, a porcelain smile. The head of WSC, the perfect example of the politician-scientist. "To the colony," he announced, raising his glass. "May Epsilon love them and keep them. May it only be transmittal... more...

A RHAPSODY ON THE NOBLE PROFESSION OF NOVEL READING It must have been at about the good-bye age of forty that Thomas Moore, that choleric and pompous yet genial little Irish gentleman, turned a sigh into good marketable "copy" for Grub Street and with shrewd economy got two full pecuniary bites out of one melancholy apple of reflection:   "Kind friends around me fall  Like leaves in... more...

The fiery disk of the sun was just lifting above the shoulder of hills that held the city of Stenton when the Greenstream stage rolled briskly from its depot, a dingy frame tavern, and commenced the long journey to its high destination. The tavern was on the outskirts of town; beyond, a broad, level plain reached to a shimmering blue silhouette of mountains printed on a silvery sky; and the stage... more...