Juvenile Fiction Books

THE ARRIVAL "Oh, Peggy, I am afraid!" "Why, Margaret!" "Yes, I am. I feel very shy and queer, going among strangers. You see, I have never really been away in my life; never in this way, I mean. I was always with father; and then—afterward—I went to Fernley; and though so many people have come into my life, dear, delightful people, I have never somehow gone into theirs. And now,... more...

INTO THE UNKNOWN It was a white caravan that looked down from the crest of the mountains upon the green wilderness, called by the Indians, Kain-tuck-ee. The wagons, a score or so in number, were covered with arched canvas, bleached by the rains, and, as they stood there, side by side, they looked like a snowdrift against the emerald expanse of forest and foliage. The travelers saw the land of hope,... more...

Penelope’s Plan. Penelope Hawthorne sat in the school-room window-seat at Easney Vicarage, one afternoon, looking very gravely out at the garden. She had sat there for some time, with her hands in her lap and a little troubled frown on her forehead, and anyone who knew her well would have guessed at once that she was thinking over a “plan.” Penelope was just thirteen years old, the eldest of the... more...

CHAPTER I AN ACCIDENT "Aren't you glad that we are only going back to school for a little while?" cried Billie Bradley, as she gave a little exultant skip. "Suppose it were fall and we were beginning high—" "Billie, stop it," commanded Laura Jordon, turning a pair of very blue and very indignant eyes upon her chum. "I thought we were going to forget school... more...

THE SALE OF LITTLE HARRY.Come read my book good boys and girlsThat live on freedom's ground,With pleasant homes, and parents dear,And blithesome playmates round;And you will learn a woeful tale,Which a good woman told,About the poor black negro race,How they are bought and sold. Within our own AmericaWhere these bad deeds are done,A father and a mother livedWho had a little son;As slaves, they... more...

LITTLE FERNS. WHERE IS LITTLE NELLY? She is not in the garden; I have searched under every bush and tree. She is not asleep in the summer-house, or in the old barn. She is not feeding the speckled chickens, or gathering buttercups in the meadows. Her little dog Fidele is weary waiting for her, and her sweet-voiced canary has forgotten to sing. Has anybody seen my little Nelly? She had eyes blue as the... more...

CHAPTER I. IN WHICH ERNEST THORNTON INTRODUCES HIMSELF. "Ernest Thornton!" called Mr. Parasyte, the principal of the Parkville Liberal Institute, in a tone so stern and severe that it was impossible to mistake his meaning, or not to understand that a tempest was brewing. "Ernest Thornton!" As that was my name, I replied to the summons by rising, and exhibiting my full length to all the... more...

I A SPECKLED BEAUTY Henrietta Hen thought highly of herself. Not only did she consider herself a "speckled beauty" (to use her own words) but she had an excellent opinion of her own ways, her own ideas—even of her own belongings. When she pulled a fat worm—or a grub—out of the ground she did it with an air of pride; and she was almost sure to say, "There! I'd like to see anybody... more...

CHAPTER I "This doesn't look like the street I came up through!" exclaimed Betty Gordon. "These funny streets, with their dear old-fashioned houses, all seem, so much alike! And if there are any names stuck up at the corners they must hide around behind the post when I come by like squirrels in the woods. "I declare, there is a queer little shop stuck right in there between two of... more...

CHAPTER I. THE CALL OF SPRING "Well, after all, the country isn't such a bad place as some city folk think." The young fellow who said this stood upon the highest point of the Ridge Road, where the land sloped abruptly to the valley in which lay the small municipality of Crawberry on the one hand, while on the other open fields and patches of woodland, in a huge green-and-brown... more...