Juvenile Fiction Books

My dear Anne,When I was upon a visit at your good mamma's, I promised to make you a present. Now a present for a girl of your age (if I only considered your age) is easy enough to find; but when I think on your good sense, I cannot reconcile myself to buy for you what I otherwise should. Not to keep you in suspense, I have at last found out a present, which I hope will be agreeable to you. Attend... more...

STORY IBUDDY PIGG IN A CABBAGEOnce upon a time, not so many years ago, in fact it was about the same year that Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow, the little puppy dog boys lived in their kennel house, there used to play with them, two queer little brown and white and black and white animal children, called guinea pigs. They were just as cute as they could be, and, since I have told you some stories about... more...

Preface. The following tale contains materials for a full-sized novel, but my readers probably will not object to have them condensed into a single modest volume. The scene of a considerable portion of the story is laid on the coast of Ireland, where the peasantry mostly speak the native Irish, and I have therefore translated what my characters say into ordinary English rather than into the generally... more...

HIS HERO BY MARGARET MINOR It was an October afternoon, and through Indian summer's tulle-like haze a low-swinging sun sent shafts of scarlet light at the highest peaks of the Blue Ridge. The sweet-gum leaves looked like blood-colored stars as they floated slowly to the ground, and brown chestnuts gleamed satin-like through their gaping burs; while over all there rested a dense stillness, cut now... more...

Bass for Breakfast. “Have some more bass, Gwyn?” “Please, father.” “You should not speak with your mouth full, my dear,” said Mrs Pendarve, quietly. “No, mother; but I didn’t like to keep father waiting.” “And between the two stools you came to the ground, eh?” said Colonel Pendarve, smiling. “Never mind; hold your plate. Lucky for us, my dear, that we have only one boy. This... more...

CHAPTER I "The Huns are coming!" exclaimed Frank Sheldon, as from the American front line his keen, gray eyes searched a broad belt of woodland three hundred yards away. "Bad habit they have," drawled his special chum and comrade, Bart Raymond, running his finger along the edge of his bayonet. "We'll have to try to cure them of it." "I think they're getting over it... more...

CHAPTER I. RODNEY UNHAPPY IN A GOOD HOME. T was a lovely Sabbath morning in May, 1828, when two lads, the elder of whom was about sixteen years old, and the younger about fourteen, were wandering along the banks of a beautiful brook, called the Buttermilk Creek, in the immediate vicinity of the city of Albany, N. Y. Though there is no poetry in the name of this little stream, there is sweet music made... more...

PREFACE "Dave Porter in the Gold Fields" is a complete story in itself, but forms the tenth volume in a line issued under the general title of "Dave Porter Series." The series was begun some years ago by the publication of "Dave Porter at Oak Hall," in which my young readers were introduced to a typical American lad at a typical American boarding school. There was at that time a... more...

CHAPTER I AN UNCEREMONIOUS DEPARTURE "Oh, isn't it just splendid, Ruth? Don't you feel like singing and dancing? Come on, let's have a two-step! I'll whistle!" "Alice! How can you be so—so boisterous?" expostulated the taller of two girls, who stood in the middle of their small and rather shabby parlor. "Boisterous! Weren't you going to say—rude?"... more...

Or, Solitude in the Wilderness. The Outskirter. To some minds solitude is depressing, to others it is congenial. It was the former to our friend John Robinson; yet he had a large share of it in his chequered life. John—more familiarly known as Jack—was as romantic as his name was the reverse. To look at him you would have supposed that he was the most ordinary of common-place men, but if you had... more...