Juvenile Fiction Books

Touches on our Hero’s Early Life, Experiences, and Adventures. Bill Bowls was the most amiable, gentle, kindly, and modest fellow that ever trod the deck of a man-of-war. He was also one of the most lion-hearted men in the Navy. When Bill was a baby—a round-faced, large-eyed, fat-legged baby, as unlike to the bronzed, whiskered, strapping seaman who went by the name of “Fighting Bill” as a... more...

GOOD IN ALL. THERE IS GOOD IN ALL. Yes! we all believe it: not a man in the depth of his vanity but will yield assent. But do you not all, in practice, daily, hourly deny it? A beggar passes you in the street: dirty, ragged, importunate. "Ah! he has a bad look," and your pocket is safe. He starves—and he steals. "I thought he was bad." You educate him in the State Prison. He does not... more...

Story 1—Chapter 1. Notes from Pringle Rushforth’s Sea Log. A Letter to Brother Harry, at Eton. It has become a reality, dear Harry. I feel very strange—a curious sensation in the throat, just as if I was going to cry, and yet it is exactly what I have been longing for. You know better than any one how I had set my heart on going to sea, and yet I thought that I should never manage it. But, after... more...

In Which the Tale Begins Somewhat Furiously. By the early light of a bright summer morning, long, long ago, two small boats were seen to issue from one of the fiords or firths on the west coast of Norway, and row towards the skerries or low rocky islets that lay about a mile distant from the mainland. Although the morning was young, the sun was already high in the heavens, and brought out in glowing... more...

The Boy in the Garden. I always felt as if I should like to punch that boy’s head, and then directly after I used to feel as if I shouldn’t care to touch him, because he looked so dirty and ragged. It was not dirty dirt, if you know what I mean by that, but dirt that he gathered up in his work—bits of hay and straw, and dust off a shed floor; mud over his boots and on his toes, for you could see... more...

INTRODUCTION During a remarkably severe winter, when a prodigious fall of snow confined everybody to their habitations, who were happy enough to have one to shelter them from the inclemency of the season, and were hot obliged by business to expose themselves to its rigour, I was on a visit to Meadow Hall; where had assembled likewise a large party of young folk, who all seemed, by their harmony and... more...

"She leaned far out on the window-sill,And shook it forth with a royal will.'Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,But spare your country's flag,' she said." The black eyes of the little speaker burned with fiery indignation as she hurled these words of defiance at a ten-quart pail of blackberries standing in the middle of the dusty road where she had set it when the emotion of... more...

When the time-gun boomed from Edinburgh Castle, Bobby gave a startled yelp. He was only a little country dog—the very youngest and smallest and shaggiest of Skye terriers—bred on a heathery slope of the Pentland hills, where the loudest sound was the bark of a collie or the tinkle of a sheep-bell. That morning he had come to the weekly market with Auld Jock, a farm laborer, and the Grassmarket of... more...

LONGING FOR NIGHT. "I think there's trouble ahead, Dan'l." "There isn't any doubt of it, Simon." The first remark was made by the famous pioneer ranger, Simon Kenton, and the second fell from the lips of the more famous Daniel Boone. It was at the close of a warm day in August, more than a century ago, that these veterans of the woods came together for the purpose of... more...

CHAPTER I A Peasant’s Hut in Russia IN the last volume of the Red Cross series the four American girls spent six months in tragic little Belgium. There, in an American hospital in Brussels, devoted to the care, not of wounded soldiers, but of ill Belgians, three of the girls lived and worked. But Eugenia went alone to dwell in a house in the woods because the cry of the children in Belgium made the... more...