Fiction Books

THE DEPARTUREAmbrose Thompson opened his front door and looked out. It was May, the sun had just risen over Pennyroyal, and before him lay Kentucky's carnival of spring. The boy drew a deep breath that seemed to rise and quiver over his face like a breeze coming away at the end of his long, curiously emotional nose. "Glory, what a day!" he whispered; "seems about good enough to... more...

I INTRODUCTION During the twentieth century, a certain type of Indian painting began to fascinate the West. Unlike Mughal art, it was a product of Hindu courts in Rajasthan and the Punjab Hills and unlike Mughal painting, its chief concern was with the varied phases of romance. Ladies would be shown brooding in their chambers as storm clouds mounted in the sky. A girl might be portrayed desperately... more...

PREFACE I have been writing books for five-and-twenty years, novels of which I believe myself to be the author, in spite of the fact that I have been assured over and over again that they are not my own work. When I have on several occasions ventured to claim them, I have seldom been believed, which seems the more odd as, when others have claimed them, they have been believed at once. Before I put my... more...

CHAPTER I "Please continue, Peggy. You were telling me who were there and what they wore. Oh, dear! I am so sorry mother would not give me leave to go. Was it all too gay?" "It was wonderful!" was the deliberate reply. "We might have danced till now had not Washington planned that sudden attack. We had to leave then,—that was early this morning,—and I spent the day abed." It... more...

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. Abate the edge of Traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again, And make poor England weep in streams of blood! Shakspeare. Those who have but an indifferent banquet to offer, are not usually inclined to discourage their guests, by a repulsive bill of fare; yet surely, when a public invitation is given, there is honesty, and prudence too, in simply stating... more...

Crossing the Durban Bar. The steamship Amatikulu was drawing near the end of her voyage. A fresh breeze was ploughing up the blue waves of the Indian Ocean, hurling off their crests in white, foamy masses, casting showers of salt spray upon the wet decks of the vessel as she plunged her nose into each heaving, tossing billow, and leaped up again with a sudden jerk which was more than lively, and... more...

THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP There was commotion in Roaring Camp. It could not have been a fight, for in 1850 that was not novel enough to have called together the entire settlement. The ditches and claims were not only deserted, but "Tuttle's grocery" had contributed its gamblers, who, it will be remembered, calmly continued their game the day that French Pete and Kanaka Joe shot each other... more...

EVENING SONG. Twilight dews are on the roses, Little birds are in the nest, On the green the lamb reposes— Rest thee, little darling, rest. While my babe is sweetly sleeping, Silent stars are bright above, And the angels' eyes are keeping Over thee their watch of love. Precious child! may that blest Saviour Who for us a child was born, Guard thee now and guard thee ever— Keep thee safely,... more...

The Mission and Its Romance "Tickets to the city, Sir?" The conductor's voice sounded above the rumble of the train. As my companion's hand went to his pocket he glanced at me with a quizzical smile. "I should think you Oaklanders would resent that. Hasn't your town put on long skirts since the fire?" There was an unpleasant emphasis on the last phrase, but I passed it... more...

CHAPTER I. IN SEARCH OF THE WESTERN TONE "What do you care, anyway?" asked Reeve-Howard philosophically. "It isn't as if you depended on the work for a living. Why worry over the fact that a mere pastime fails to be financially a success. You don't need to write—" "Neither do you need to slave over those dry-point things," Thurston retorted, in none the... more...