Fiction Books

I. "I extraordinary navigation, certainly," said Miss Bruce. "Oh, mem, if you please, isn't it better than the hother?" answered Meadows, respectfully. Meadows was Miss Bruce's maid; one could have told that she was English (even if one had not heard her speak) from her fresh, rosy complexion, her smooth hair put plainly and primly back from her forehead, her stiff-backed... more...

INTRODUCTION. The literary work which survives a century has uncommon merit. Time has set the seal of approval upon it. It has passed its probation and entered the ages. A century has just closed upon the work of Junius. The causes which produced it, either in act or person, have long since passed away. The foolish king, the corrupt minister, and the prostituted legislature are forgotten, or only... more...

CUBICLE THIRTEEN The new girl sat on the edge of her bed, and gazed round at the small domain which for the next three months would be the one spot in this strange new world of school that she could call her own. It was really quite a nice cubicle, some eight feet wide by ten feet long—just large enough to contain a small white-counterpaned bed, a dressing-table and chest of drawers combined, a small... more...

endell Hart had drifted, rather than plunged, into the underground movement. Later, discussing it with other members of the Savers' Conspiracy, he found they had experienced the same slow, almost casual awakening. His own, though, had come at a more appropriate time, just a few weeks before the Great Ritual Sacrifice. The Sacrifice took place only once a decade, on High Holy Day at dawn of the... more...

A RIFT IN THE LUTE Everything else was in harmony. If the sky turquoise was a shade or two paler than the prescribed robin's-egg, it blended perfectly with the unpronounced greens of the sprouting grass and the uncertain olive of the budding sagebrush. On the crest of the distant divide a silver-gray wreath of aspens lay against the tawny cheek of the mountain as daintily as an otter-fur... more...

CHAPTER I THE GREY BOAR Youth's daring courage, manhood's fire Firm seat and eagle eye Must he acquire who doth aspire To see the grey boar die —Indian Pigsticking Song Mrs. Norton looked contentedly at her image in the long mirror which reflected a graceful figure in a well-cut grey habit and smart long brown boots, a pretty face and wavy auburn hair under the sun-helmet. Then turning away... more...

THE FAIRY OF THE FOREST The setting sun shone on the wooded slopes of the hill. He clasped the nearest trees in a burning embrace, offered his hand to those farther off, and gave to them all a sparkling smile. There was joy on the hillside. The summer wind told fairy tales from the south. Told of the trees there, how tall they are, how dense the forests, and the earth, how it steams in the heat. How... more...

Salutation Three months have gone by since this little child of my heart went out into the world, a strayling in the scanty dress of a booklet. In that time many thousands have looked kindly on the little wanderer and welcomed it into their homes. Letters from everywhere have come in, saying in effect: "It came to my door yesterday, and its voice has been sweet to me, and I am glad to have it stay... more...

THE SONG OF DEIRDRA Farewell, grey Albyn, much loved land,   I ne’er shall see thy hills again;Upon those hills I oft would stand   And view the chase sweep o’er the plain. ’Twas pleasant from their tops I ween   To see the stag that bounding ran;And all the rout of hunters keen,   The sons of Usna in the van. The chiefs of Albyn feasted high,   Amidst them Usna’s children shone;And... more...

THE SONG OF THE STONE WALL Come walk with me, and I will tellWhat I have read in this scroll of stone;I will spell out this writing on hill and meadow.It is a chronicle wrought by praying workmen,The forefathers of our nation—Leagues upon leagues of sealed history awaiting an interpreter.This is New England's tapestry of stoneAlive with memories that throb and quiverAt the core of the agesAs the... more...