Juvenile Fiction Books

INTRODUCTION. Eleanor and I are subject to fads. Indeed, it is a family failing. (By the family I mean our household, for Eleanor and I are not, even distantly, related.) Life would be comparatively dull, up away here on the moors, without them. Our fads and the boys’ fads are sometimes the same, but oftener distinct. Our present one we would not so much as tell them of on any account; because they... more...

TOM MAKES A PROMISE Tom Slade hoisted up his trousers, tightened his belt, and lounged against the railing outside the troop room, listening dutifully but rather sullenly to his scoutmaster. "All I want you to do, Tom," said Mr. Ellsworth, "is to have a little patience—just a little patience." "A little tiny one—about as big as Pee-wee," added Roy. "A little bigger than... more...

In the kingdom of Bonbobbin, which, by the Chinese annals, appears to have flourished twenty thousand years ago, there reigned a prince, endowed with every accomplishment which generally distinguishes the sons of kings. His beauty was brighter than the sun. The sun, to which he was nearly related, would sometimes stop his course, in order to look down and admire him. His mind was not less perfect than... more...

THE PROFESSOR AND THE CAPTAIN. The Young America, with every rag of canvas set, including studding-sails alow and aloft, rolled and pitched gracefully on the long swells of the German Ocean. The wind was very light from the north-west, and there was hardly enough of it to give the ship steerage-way. A mile off, on her starboard bow, was the Josephine, beclouded in the quantity of sail she carried, but... more...

THE TORTOISE AND THE DUCKS "Take me with you, please," called a tortoise to a gray duck and a white duck that were flying over. The ducks heard the tortoise and flew down toward him. "Do you really wish to go with us?" asked the ducks as they came to the ground near the tortoise. "I surely do," replied the tortoise. "Will you please take me?" "Why, yes, I think we... more...

FANNY'S BIRTHDAY. Here is a nice new book! It is mine. Papa has just given it to me, for this is my birth-day, and I am five years old. Oh, how pretty it is! Here are boys and girls at play, like Willie and me; and here is nurse, with baby on her knee. They will call me a dunce if I do not learn to read well, so I will try my very best; for what is the use of a nice book like this, if I cannot... more...

MARY'S MEADOW. CHAPTER I. Mother is always trying to make us love our neighbors as ourselves. She does so despise us for greediness, or grudging, or snatching, or not sharing what we have got, or taking the best and leaving the rest, or helping ourselves first, or pushing forward, or praising Number One, or being Dogs in the Manger, or anything selfish. And we cannot bear her to despise us! We... more...

When a boy is not a boy. “Fine morning, Jack; why don’t you go and have a run?” John Meadows—always “Jack,” because his father’s name was John—upon hearing that father’s voice, raised his dull, dreamy eyes slowly from the perusal of the old Latin author over which he was bending, and looked in Sir John’s face, gazing at him inquiringly as if he had been walking with Cicero in... more...

MARJORIE'S WAY.  don't care," said Ermengarde. "I won't do it! I won't obey her!" "What are you saying, Ermie?" Ermengarde was standing by the dressing-table in her room. She had been talking half to herself; she now turned quickly round, and confronted a plain little girl of between eleven and twelve. "Is that you, Marjorie? I didn't know you were... more...

CHAPTER I. TEARS."A maid whom there were none to praise,And very few to love."—Wordsworth. Marjory was lying under a tree in the wood beyond her uncle's garden; her head was hidden in the long, soft coat of a black retriever, and she was crying—sobbing bitterly as if her heart would break, and as if nothing could ever comfort her again. "O Silky," she moaned, "if you only... more...