Juvenile Fiction Books

THE MOTHER OF HEROES   For a man whose thirtieth year was still not far behind him, the man's face was over careworn. It suggested that he felt life's difficulties more keenly than a man should at that age. But it may have been that this was a necessary part of the keenness with which the whole of life appealed to him; its good things, as well as its worries. He rose from his writing-table... more...

LITTLE BOY BLUE Little Boy Blue was not his real name. Oh, no! His real name was Richard Snow. But his mother always called him "Little Boy Blue." His father called him "Boy Blue," too. Every one called him "Little Boy Blue," and so I will. Boy Blue's eyes were as blue as the sky on a summer day. When he was a baby he always wore a blue ribbon in his hair. When he was five... more...

CHAPTER I A GAY HOUSEHOLD “Isn’t Mrs. Phelps too perfectly sweet! That is the loveliest fan I ever laid eyes on, and to think it’s mine!” “And will you look at this? A silver coffee-machine! Oh, Nan, mayn’t I make it work, sometimes?” “Indeed you may; and oh, see this! A piece of antique Japanese bronze! Isn’t it great?” “I don’t like it as well as the sparkling, shiny things.... more...

One Captain Purlrose. About as rugged, fierce-looking a gang of men as a lad could set eyes on, as they struggled up the steep cliff road leading to the castle, which frowned at the summit, where the flashing waters of the Gleame swept round three sides of its foot, half hidden by the beeches and birches, which overhung the limpid stream. The late spring was at its brightest and best, but there had... more...

CHAPTER I THE FIRE TRICK "Better put on your pigeon-omelet trick now, Joe." "All right. That ought to go well. And you are getting ready for——" "The fire trick," interrupted Professor Alonzo Rosello, as he and his young assistant, Joe Strong, stood bowing and smiling in response to the applause of the crowd that had gathered in the theatre to witness the feats of "Black... more...

Our habitation in the forest—My share of the spoils of the day’s chase—Uncle Mark commences his narrative—Why my uncles decided to emigrate—Landing in safety, they start up country—Their meeting with Simon Yearsley, an old settler—The settlement is found in ruins—Lily and I rescued—Uncle Mark promises to resume his narrative on the first opportunity—My love of natural... more...

Neil D’Arcy’s Life at Sea. My Ancestors—Larry Harrigan, and my Early Education—Choice of a Profession—First Start in Life. “The sea, the sea,” if not my mother, has been my nurse (and anything but a dry one) from the earliest days of my recollection. I was born within the sound of old ocean’s surges; I dabbled in salt water before I could run; and I have floated on salt water, and have... more...

CHAPTER I. OFF FOR JAPAN. "The Motor Maids are off again," announced the West Haven Courier one morning, as if every citizen in the gray old town on the coast was not already well aware of it. The four famous travelers and their chaperone, Miss Helen Campbell, were always off somewhere in the red motor car. If they were not making a voyage to England with the "Comet" stored in the hold... more...

“Have I Done Right?” “Better stay here, squire. Aren’t the land good enough for you?” “Oh yes; the land’s good enough, sir.” “Stop and take up a run close by. If you go yonder, the piggers’ll eat you without salt.” Here followed a roar of laughter from the party of idlers who were busy doing nothing with all their might, as they lounged about the wharves and warehouses of Port... more...

CHAPTER I THE WRECK Into the city room of the New York Leader hurried Mr. Whiggen, the telegraph editor. In his hand was a slip of paper, containing a few typewritten words. Mr. Whiggen laid it on the desk of Bruce Emberg, the city editor. "Just came in over our special wire," said Mr. Whiggen. "Looks as if it might be a bad wreck. That's a dangerous coast. I thought you might like to... more...