Fiction Books

Above us curved the pale, hot bowl of cloudless sky; below us stretched the rolling, tawny wastes of the great Arabian Desert; and away to the east, close to the dipping horizon, scudded the tiny speck we were following. We had been following it since dawn and it was now close to sunset. Where was it leading us? Should we go on or turn back? How much longer would our gas and oil hold out? And just... more...

CHAPTER I For some reason the desert scene before Lucy Bostil awoke varying emotions—a sweet gratitude for the fullness of her life there at the Ford, yet a haunting remorse that she could not be wholly content—a vague loneliness of soul—a thrill and a fear for the strangely calling future, glorious, unknown. She longed for something to happen. It might be terrible, so long as it was wonderful.... more...

LETTER I. TO THE SHOP-KEEPERS, TRADESMEN, FARMERS, AND COMMON-PEOPLE OF IRELAND. NOTE About the year 1720 it was generally acknowledged in Ireland that there was a want there of the small change, necessary in the transaction of petty dealings with shopkeepers and tradesmen. It has been indignantly denied by contemporary writers that this small change meant copper coins. They asserted that there was no... more...

CHAPTER I.AN OLD BEE HUNTER. The bee hunters in my early days used one of two methods in hunting the bee. The hunter would select a clear day, generally during buckwheat bloom, and after determining on a course, sun them to the tree. This was done by placing the hat or hand between the eye and sun as close to the light as the eye would permit. If the hunter knew the difference between the flight of a... more...

CHAPTER I If you will look back over the files of the "Southern Christian Advocate," published at the time in Macon, Georgia, you will find the following notice—by a singular coincidence on the page devoted to "obituaries": "Married—Mary Elizabeth Eden to William Asbury Thompson. The bride is the daughter of Colonel and Mrs. Eden, of Edenton; the groom is the son of the late... more...

BROADWAY TO BUENOS AIRES The door marked "MRS. MCCHESNEY" was closed. T. A. Buck, president of the Buck Featherloom Petticoat Company, coming gaily down the hall, stopped before it, dismayed, as one who, with a spicy bit of news at his tongue's end, is met with rebuff before the first syllable is voiced. That closed door meant: "Busy. Keep out." "She'll be reading a... more...

CHAPTER I THE MISTRESS OF MONDREER “Mother! Oh, mother! it will break my heart!” wailed Odalite, sinking at the lady’s feet, and dropping her head into her hands, face downward to the carpet. The lady gently raised her child, took her in her arms and tenderly caressed her, murmuring, softly: “No, my own! hearts never break, or one heart, I know, must have broken long ago. Besides,” she added,... more...

Mark Seaworth. Picture a wide expanse of ocean, smooth as a polished mirror, and shining like molten silver; a sky of intense blue, without a cloud or speck, forming a vast arch resting on the water; no land or rock in sight; the boundless sea on every side; the sun travelling slowly and majestically along the arch, and casting his burning rays upon the glittering plain below. Let us pause and... more...

INTRODUCTION TO JOE MULLER Joseph Muller, Secret Service detective of the Imperial Austrian police, is one of the great experts in his profession. In personality he differs greatly from other famous detectives. He has neither the impressive authority of Sherlock Holmes, nor the keen brilliancy of Monsieur Lecoq. Muller is a small, slight, plain-looking man, of indefinite age, and of much humbleness of... more...

To keep the record straight: Orville Close was first man on the Moon. Harold Ferguson was second. They never talk about it. It started on that October morning when the piece came out in the Parkville News. Harold grumbled that they'd gotten the story all wrong, calling his ship a rocket ship, and treating him like a flagpole sitter or a man going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. His wife took their... more...