Juvenile Fiction
- Action & Adventure 179
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- Biographical 1
- Boys / Men 133
- Classics 1
- Fairy Tales & Folklore 11
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- General 262
- Girls & Women 187
- Historical 141
- Holidays & Celebrations 72
- Humorous Stories 2
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- Legends, Myths, & Fables 48
- Lifestyles 253
- Mysteries, Espionage, & Detective Stories 12
- Nature & the Natural World 3
- Religious 81
- School & Education 127
- Science Fiction, Fantasy, & Magic 12
- Short Stories 6
- Sports & Recreation 31
- Toys, Dolls, & Puppets 10
- Transportation 44
Juvenile Fiction Books
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by:
Johanna Spyri
CHAPTER FIRST AT HOME IN THE LITTLE STONE HUT High up in the Bernese Oberland, quite a distance above the meadow-encircled hamlet of Kandergrund, stands a little lonely hut, under the shadow of an old fir-tree. Not far away rushes down from the wooded heights of rock the Wild brook, which in times of heavy rains, has carried away so many rocks and bowlders that when the storms are ended a ragged mass...
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by:
John Finnemore
CHAPTER I. THE ATTACK ON THE HEATH. Jack Haydon, prefect of Rushmere School and captain of the first fifteen, walked swiftly out of the school gates and turned along the high road. He had leave to go to the little town of Longhampton, three miles away, to visit a day-scholar, a great friend of his, now on the sick list. He was alone, and he swung along at a cracking pace, for he could walk as well as...
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by:
Susan Warner
CHAPTER I. A little girl was coming down a flight of stairs that led up from a great hall, slowly letting her feet pause on each stair, while the light touch of her hand on the rail guided her. The very thoughtful little face seemed to be intent on something out of the house, and when she reached the bottom, she still stood with her hand on the great baluster that rested on the marble there, and looked...
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CHAPTER I. Long before it was light, little feet were passing up and down those great stone stairs, little voices whispered in the corridors, little night-dresses rustled by the superintendent's door. She did not think of sleeping, for though the moon still hung in the sky, it was Christmas morning—five o'clock on Christmas morning at the Orphanage; and the little ones had everything their...
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CHAPTER I. THE CONTESSA'S LETTER TO MR. MOLE—ON PLEASURE BENT—THE MENDICANT FRIAR—MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS—HOUSE BREAKING. When Mrs. Harkaway's maid returned to the villa, she got scolded for being so long upon an errand of some importance with which she had been entrusted. Thereupon, she was prepared with twenty excuses, all of which were any thing but the truth. The words of warning which...
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by:
Alice Ercle Hunt
I It was Christmas Eve and a Saturday night when Mrs. Larrabee, the Beulah minister's wife, opened the door of the study where her husband was deep in the revision of his next day's sermon, and thrust in her comely head framed in a knitted rigolette. "Luther, I'm going to run down to Letty's. We think the twins are going to have measles; it's the only thing they...
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CHAPTER I. Tom and the Andirons It was perfectly natural in one respect, anyhow. There was really no reason in the world why Tom should not lie upon the great bear-skin rug in front of the library fire those cold winter nights if he wanted to, nor need anyone be surprised that he should want to. It was indeed a most delightful place to lie in. The bear-skin was soft and in every way comfortable and...
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LILL’S TRAVELS IN SANTA CLAUS LAND. Effie had been playing with her dolls one cold December morning, and Lill had been reading, until both were tired. But it stormed too hard to go out, and, as Mrs. Pelerine had said they need not do anything for two hours, their little jaws might have been dislocated by yawning before they would as much as pick up a pin. Presently Lill said, “Effie, shall I tell...
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WYGATE SCHOOL "Emily Underwood, 19; Stanley Smith, 20; Cyril Bruce, 21; Nellie Underwood, 22; Elizabeth Bruce, 23—bottom of the class!" Mr. Sharman took off his eyeglasses, rubbed them, and put them on again. Then he looked very hard at the little girl at the end of the furthest form, who was hanging her head and industriously biting a slate pencil. "Stand up, Elizabeth Bruce. Put down...
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Off at last! “Ahoy, there! All on board?” “Yes; all right.” “Got all your tackle?” “I think so.” “Haven’t forgotten your cartridges!” “No; here they are.” “I’ll be bound to say you’ve forgotten something. Yes: fishing-tackle?” “That we haven’t, Mr Wilson,” said a fresh voice, that of a bright-looking lad of sixteen, as he rose up in the long boat lying by the...
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