Juvenile Fiction Books

CHAPTER I "SOME RIDIN'!" Two riders slumped comfortably in their saddles as the ponies slowly ambled along. The sun was hot, and the dust stifling, a cloud of it forming a floating screen about the horsemen and progressing with them down the trail. One of the riders, a tall, lanky and weather-beaten cowboy, taking a long breath, raised his voice in what he doubtless intended to be a song.... more...

AT PLAY. Three little foals you see at play.They romp and sport all through the day,But sometimes they are most sedateAnd try to ape their mothers’ gait. They wheel and race and leap and prance,And sometimes they are said to dance:But always they will stand and stareAt anyone who passes there.   [4] [5] [6] The horse, like us, must go to schoolTo learn by precept and by rule.Like us, he does not... more...

A NIGHTCAP LETTER FROM AUNT FANNY. You dear little darling: A long time ago, that is, long for such a little speck of a child as you, just before last Christmas, I wrote a story book called "Nightcaps." I called it this funny name, because poor little lame Charley to whom all the stories were told, called them his "nightcaps," as he and his sisters and brothers had to go to bed, the... more...

CHAPTER I RUTH VARS COMES OUT I SPEND my afternoons walking alone in the country. It is sweet and clean out-of-doors, and I need purifying. My wanderings disturb Lucy. She is always on the lookout for me, in the hall or living-room or on the porch, especially if I do not come back until after dark. She needn't worry. I am simply trying to fit together again the puzzle-picture of my life, dumped... more...

In the Pearl River. “Bill!” “Aye, aye, bo!” “Guess this’ll be a rum v’yage, mate.” “Why, old shellback?” “’Cause I can’t make out why we are wasting our time here, with the cargo all aboard and the wind fair.” “Don’t you fret yourself about that, Jem Backstay. The skipper knows what he’s a-doing, and has got a heap o’ ’sponsibility on them shoulders o’... more...

First Chronicle. JACK O'LANTERNIMiss Miranda Sawyer's old-fashioned garden was the pleasantest spot in Riverboro on a sunny July morning. The rich color of the brick house gleamed and glowed through the shade of the elms and maples. Luxuriant hop-vines clambered up the lightning rods and water spouts, hanging their delicate clusters here and there in graceful profusion. Woodbine transformed... more...

THE WONDERFUL PLOUGH. There was once a farmer who was master of one of the little black dwarfs that are the blacksmiths and armourers, and he got him in a very curious way. On the road leading to this farmer's ground there stood a stone cross, and every morning as he went to his work he used to stop and kneel down before this cross, and pray for some minutes. On one of these occasions he noticed... more...

The wonderful linguist—I study Arabic—My first voyage to sea—We sail for the coast of Africa—The brig capsized—Saved on a raft. “Never throw away a piece of string, a screw, or a nail, or neglect an opportunity, when it offers, of gaining knowledge or learning how to do a thing,” my father used to say; and as I respected him, I followed his advice,—and have, through life, on many... more...

FLOWERS! “Patty, do come along and get your luncheon before everything grows cold!” “‘And the stars are old, And the leaves of the judgment book unfold,’” chanted Patty, who had just learned this new song, and was apt to sing it at unexpected moments. She sat on the floor in the middle of the long drawing-room of her New York home. To say she was surrounded by flowers, faintly expresses it.... more...

THE VARMINT When young Stover disembarked at the Trenton station on the fourth day after the opening of the spring term he had acquired in his brief journey so much of the Pennsylvania rolling stock as could be detached and concealed. Inserted between his nether and outer shirts were two gilt "Directions to Travelers" which clung like mustard plasters to his back, while a jagged tin sign,... more...