Juvenile Fiction Books

I wish that all the little boys and girls who read this story could see Grandmother Puss; but as they cannot, I will tell you something about her. She is a very large, and handsome old cat of grave aspect, and solemn manners. Her face is black, with white marks around the eyes, and across the nose, which make her look as if she wore spectacles; and she has a grandson called Peter, who lives with her.... more...

Chapter I.   A single cloud on a sunny day    When all the rest of heaven is clear,    A frown upon the atmosphere,    That hath no business to appear,  When skies are blue and earth is gay. Byron. Come, dear grandpa!—the old mare and the wagon are at the gate—all ready." "Well, dear!"—responded a cheerful hearty voice, "they must wait a bit; I haven't got my... more...

Chapter One. My infancy and education—How I was sold and who bought me. “Then you can guarantee it to be a good one to go?” “You couldn’t have a better, sir.” “And it will stand a little roughish wear, you think?” “I’m sure of it, sir; it’s an uncommon strong watch.” “Then I’ll take it.” These few sentences determined my destiny, and from that moment my career may be said... more...

CHAPTER I. "NOTHING BUT A BOY." A young fellow in a light buggy, with a big black dog sitting composedly beside him, enjoying the ride, drove up, one summer afternoon, to the door of a log-house, in one of the early settlements of Northern Illinois. A woman with lank features, in a soiled gown trailing its rags about her bare feet, came and stood in the doorway and stared at him. "Does Mr.... more...

CHAPTER I "I'VE VOLUNTEERED!" "Well, who is going to read the paper?" Amy Blackford stopped knitting for a moment, the half-finished sweater suspended inquiringly in the air, while she asked her question and gazed about impatiently at her busy group of friends. "It's your turn, anyhow, Mollie," she added, fingers flying and head bent as she resumed her work. "You... more...

My home, and how I left it. The day arrived. A post-chaise stood in front of the old grey manor-house. I have it all before me. The pointed gables—the high-pitched, dark weather; stained roof—the numberless latticed windows—the moat, now dry, which had once served to keep out a body of Cromwell’s horse—the tall elms, which had nestled many a generation of rooks—the clump of beech trees, and... more...

In writing this book my desire has been to draw an exact copy of the picture which is indelibly stamped on my own memory. I have carefully avoided exaggeration in everything of importance. All the chief and most of the minor incidents are facts. In regard to unimportant matters, I have taken the liberty of a novelist—not to colour too highly, or to invent improbabilities, but—to transpose time,... more...

CHAPTER I CAMPING IN THE BREAKER "And so I says to myself, says I, give me a good husky band of BoyScouts! They'll do the job if it can be done!" Case Canfield, caretaker, sat back in a patched chair in the dusky, unoccupied office of the Labyrinth mine and addressed himself to four lads of seventeen who were clad in the khaki uniform of the Boy Scouts of America. Those of our readers who... more...

THE PLANTATION OF REDLAWN. One soft summer evening, when Woodville was crowned with the glory and beauty of the joyous season, three strangers presented themselves before the Grant family, and asked for counsel and assistance. The party consisted of two boys and a girl, and they belonged to that people which the traditions of the past have made the "despised race;" but the girl was whiter and... more...

CHAPTER I There is no such thing as an immortal monkey, but this monkey was as near it as possible. Talk of a cat's nine lives—this monkey had ninety! A monkey's business in the world is usually to make everybody merry, but the special mission of this one, I fear, was to make everybody as angry as ever they could be. In wrath-producing power, in fact, this monkey positively shone. How many... more...