Juvenile Fiction Books

ON THE ATLANTIC "Come to me, children," said Mrs. Bradley invitingly; "I will be a mother to you, my darlings. You shall not be a burden to the community, but I will take care of you myself." Having said this, she seized the little boy and his sister and pressed them to her heart, while tears trickled down her full, rosy cheeks. "Now you little sweethearts," she said soothingly,... more...

Chapter XXVII. In prison. The cells were all crowded; so the two friends were chained in a large room where persons charged with trifling offences were commonly kept. They had company, for there were some twenty manacled and fettered prisoners here, of both sexes and of varying ages,—an obscene and noisy gang.  The King chafed bitterly over the stupendous indignity thus put upon his royalty, but... more...

FANNY, THE FLOWER-GIRL "Come, buy my flowers; flowers fresh and fair. Come, buy my flowers.Please ma'am, buy a nice bunch of flowers, very pretty ones, ma'am.Please, sir, to have some flowers; nice, fresh ones, miss; only justgathered; please look." Thus spoke, or sometimes sung, a little girl of perhaps eight years old, holding in her hand a neat small basket, on the top of which lay... more...

BAD NEWS "Why, Grace, what in the world is the matter? You've been crying!" "Yes, I have, Betty. But don't mind me. It's all so sudden. Come in. I shall be all right presently. Don't mind!" Grace Ford tried to repress her emotion, but the cause of her tears was evidently too recent, or the effort at self-control too much for her, for she gave way to another outburst,... more...

On a foggy morning of early July in the year 1890, the Labrador mail boat, northward bound from St. Johns, felt her way cautiously into the mist-enveloped harbour of Fort Pelican and to her anchorage. For six days the little steamer had been buffeted by wind and ice and fog, and when at last her engines ceased to throb and she lay at rest in harbour, Allen Shadrach Trowbridge of Boston, her only... more...

CHAPTER I A SNOWBALL FIGHT Down swirled the white flakes, blowing this way and that. It was snowing furiously in North Pole Land, and even the immense workshop of Santa Claus was almost buried in white. How the wind howled! It whistled down the chimneys, and blew the sparks about. "Whew, how cold it is!" cried a Wax Doll, who did not have any shoes on, for she was not yet quite finished.... more...

Half a Dozen Daughters. There were six of them altogether—six great big girls,—and they lived in a great big house, in the middle of a long high road, one end of which loses itself in London town, while the other goes stretching away over the county of Hertford. Years ago, John Gilpin had ridden his famous race down that very road, and Christabel loved to look out of her bedroom window and imagine... more...

Chapter One. Peter’s Home and Friends. “Are you better, mother, to-day?” asked little Peter, as he went up to the bed on which Widow Gray lay, in a small chamber of their humble abode. “I trust so, my boy,” she answered, in a doubtful tone, as she gazed fondly on the ruddy, broad, honest face of her only child, and put aside the mass of light hair which clustered curling over his brow, to... more...

CHAPTER I.Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,The midnight brought the signal sound of strife,The morn the marshalling in arms—the dayBattle's magnificently stern array!The thunder clouds close o'er it, which when rentThe earth is covered thick with other clay,Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,Rider and horse:—friend,... more...

TRADITION."What can he tell that treads thy shore?No legend of thine olden time,No theme on which the mind might soarHigh as thine own in days of yore." The Giaour.—BYRON In the beginning of the eighth century Guernsey was a favoured spot. Around, over the Continent and the British Isles, had swept successive conquests with their grim train of sufferings for the conquered; but these... more...