Juvenile Fiction Books

CHAPTER I THE BOY FROM KANSAS"Holdup!"Coach Robey, coatless, vestless, hatless, his old flannel trousers held up as by a miracle with the aid of a leather strap scarcely deserving the name of belt, pushed his way through the first squad players. The Brimfield Head Coach was a wiry, medium-sized man of about thirty, with a deeply-tanned face from which sharp blue eyes looked out under whitish... more...

THE YOUNG LORD. “Lay not up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust do corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal. “But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal. “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”—St. Matt. vi. 19, 20, 21. “How can we reward the... more...

Peters the Susceptible APER-WEIGHTS," observed Patty, sucking an injured thumb, "were evidently not made for driving in tacks. I wish I had a hammer."This remark called forth no response, and Patty peered down from the top of the step-ladder at her room-mate, who was sitting on the floor dragging sofa-pillows and curtains from a dry-goods box. "Priscilla," she begged, "you... more...

A Romance of Old Albion. Opens with Leave-Taking. Nearly two thousand seven hundred years ago—or somewhere about eight hundred years B.C.—there dwelt a Phoenician sea-captain in one of the eastern sea-ports of Greece—known at that period, or soon after, as Hellas. This captain was solid, square, bronzed, bluff, and resolute, as all sea-captains are—or ought to be—whether ancient or modern. He... more...

"Let us now praise famous men"—Men of little showing—For their work continueth,And their work continueth,Greater than their knowing. Western wind and open surgeTore us from our mothers;Flung us on a naked shore(Twelve bleak houses by the shore!Seven summers by the shore!)'Mid two hundred brothers. There we met with famous menSet in office o'er us.And they beat on us with... more...

CHAPTER I THE STORM “Margot! Margot!” Mother Angelique’s anxious call rang out over the water, once, twice, many times. But, though she shaded her brows with her hands and strained her keen ears to listen, there was no one visible and no response came back to her. So she climbed the hill again and, reëntering the cabin, began to stir with almost vicious energy the contents of a pot swinging in... more...

Mr John Dempster. “What would I do, sir? Why, if I were as poor as you say you are, and couldn’t get on here, I’d go abroad.” “But where, sir? where to?” “Anywhere. Don’t ask me. The world’s big enough and round enough for you, isn’t it?” “But without means, Mr Dempster?” “Yes, sir, without means. Work, sir—work. The same as I have done. I pay my poor rate, and I can’t... more...

"Who's that little gal goin' by?" said old Mrs. Emmons. "That—why, that's young Lucretia, mother," replied her daughter Ann, peering out of the window over her mother's shoulder. There was a fringe of flowering geraniums in the window; the two women had to stretch their heads over them. "Poor little soul!" old Mrs. Emmons remarked further. "I pity that... more...

My father, after meeting with a severe reverse of fortune, dies, and my sisters and I are left destitute.—Our faithful old black nurse Mammy, takes care of my sisters, while I, invited by a former acquaintance, Captain Willis of the “Chieftain,” sail with him on a trading voyage to the coast of Africa. Our school was breaking up for the midsummer holidays—north, south, east, and west we sped to... more...

THE BOAT THAT CAME DOWN FROM THE SEA Abel Zachariah was jigging cod. Cod were plentiful, and Abel Zachariah was happy. It still lacked two hours of mid-day, and already he had caught a skiffload of fish and had landed them on Itigailit Island, where his tent was pitched. Now, as he jigged a little off shore, he could see Mrs. Abel Zachariah, the yellow sunshine spread all about her, splitting his... more...