Juvenile Fiction Books

CHAPTER I A Last Bathe The warm, mellow September sunshine was streaming over the irregular roofs and twisted chimneys of the little town of Chagmouth, and was glinting on the water in the harbour, and sending gleaming, straggling, silver lines over the deep reflections of the shipping moored by the side of the jetty. The rising tide, lapping slowly and gently in from the ocean, was floating the boats... more...

THE LAST PENNY. THOMAS CLAIRE, a son of St. Crispin, was a clever sort of a man; though not very well off in the world. He was industrious, but, as his abilities were small, his reward was proportioned thereto. His skill went but little beyond half-soles, heel-taps, and patches. Those who, willing to encourage Thomas, ventured to order from him a new pair of boots or shoes, never repeated the order.... more...

AN UNHERALDED CHAMPION Ted Turner lived at Freeman's Falls, a sleepy little town on the bank of a small New Hampshire river. There were cotton mills in the town; in fact, had there not been probably no town would have existed. The mills had not been attracted to the town; the town had arisen because of the mills. The river was responsible for the whole thing, for its swift current and foaming... more...

How the Adventure Originated. The hour was noon, the month chill October; and the occupants—a round dozen in number—of Sir Philip Swinburne’s drawing office were more or less busily pursuing their vocation of preparing drawings and tracings, taking out quantities, preparing estimates, and, in short, executing the several duties of a civil engineers’ draughtsman as well as they could in a... more...

THE WIND'S WORK MOTTO FOR THE MOTHER Power invisible that God reveals, The child within all nature feels, Like the great wind that unseen goes, Yet helps the world's work as it blows. One morning Jan waked up very early, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was his great kite in the corner. His big brother had made it for him; and it had a smiling face, and a long tail that... more...

LONG AGO AT BRAYCOMBE. The Story of the White-Rock Cove—"to be written down all from the very beginning"—is urgently required by certain youthful petitioners, whose importunity is hard to resist; and the request is sealed by a rosy pair of lips from the little face nestling at my side, in a manner that admits of no denial. "From the beginning;"—that very beginning carries me back... more...

THE CAMP IN THE FOREST “Wohelo—wohelo—wo-he-lo!” The clear, musical call, rising from the green tangle of the forest that fringed the bay, seemed to float lingeringly above the treetops and out over the wide stretch of gleaming water, to a girl in a green canoe, who listened intently until the last faint echo died away, then began paddling rapidly towards the wooded slope. The sun, just... more...

CHAPTER I THE MENDED DRUM “Rub-a-dub, dub! Bang! Rub-a-dub-dub—Bang! Bang!” Sunny Boy thumped his drum vigorously. Usually when he made such a racket some one would come out and ask him what in the world was he making a noise like that for, but this morning every one seemed to be very busy. For several minutes now Sunny Boy had been trying to attract Harriet’s attention. She was doing something... more...

PONY’S MOTHER, AND WHY HE HAD A RIGHT TO RUN OFF If there was any fellow in the Boy’s Town fifty years ago who had a good reason to run off it was Pony Baker. Pony was not his real name; it was what the boys called him, because there were so many fellows who had to be told apart, as Big Joe and Little Joe, and Big John and Little John, and Big Bill and Little Bill, that they got tired of telling... more...

Chapter V. Tom as a patrician. Tom Canty, left alone in the prince's cabinet, made good use of his opportunity.  He turned himself this way and that before the great mirror, admiring his finery; then walked away, imitating the prince's high-bred carriage, and still observing results in the glass.  Next he drew the beautiful sword, and bowed, kissing the blade, and laying it across his... more...