Juvenile Fiction Books

CHAPTER I THE LAND OF GOLDEN EGGS Luis Montez, mine owner, stood on the broad veranda in front of his handsome home, looking out over the country sweeping away to the eastward. "Gentlemen, you are in a land of golden promise," began SenorMontez, with a smile and a bow. "I should call it more than promise.Why not? My beloved country, Mexico, has been shipping goldto the world ever since the... more...

CHAPTER I HIT BY A WHALE "How about a race to the dock, Frank?" "With whom, Andy?" "Me, of course. I'll beat you there—loser to stand treat for the ice cream sodas. It's a hot day." "Yes, almost too warm to do any speeding," and Frank Racer, a lad of fifteen, with a quiet look of determination on his face, rested on the oars of his skiff, and glanced across... more...

Chapter One. Wet, worn and weary—with water squeaking in his boots, and a mixture of charcoal and water streaking his face to such an extent that, as a comrade asserted, his own mother would not have known him—a stout young man walked smartly one morning through the streets of London towards his own home. He was tall and good-looking, as well as stout, and, although wet and weary, had a spring in... more...

How our heroes enter upon more than one career. On a raw, damp morning in early spring, a rather forlorn group of three youngsters might have been seen on the doorstep of Mountjoy Preparatory School, casting nervous glances up and down the drive, and looking anything but a picture of the life and spirits they really represented. That they were bound on an important journey was very evident. They were... more...

CHAPTER I THE WORK OF THE WOLF PACK "Hold up, Bob!" "Any signs of the lame yearling, Frank?" "Well, there seems to be something over yonder to the west; but the sage crops up, and interferes a little with my view." "Here, take the field glasses and look; while I cinch my saddle girth, which has loosened again." Frank Haywood adjusted the glasses to his eye. Then, rising... more...

Santa Claus lives in the Laughing Valley, where stands the big, rambling castle in which his toys are manufactured. His workmen, selected from the ryls, knooks, pixies and fairies, live with him, and every one is as busy as can be from one year's end to another. It is called the Laughing Valley because everything there is happy and gay. The brook chuckles to itself as it leaps rollicking between... more...

Chapter 1: The Inmates Of The Old Gate House. "Dost defy me to my face, sirrah?" "I have no desire to defy you, father, but--" "But me no 'buts,' and father me no 'fathers,'" stormed the angry old man, probably quite unconscious of the Shakespearian smack of his phrase; "I am no father to heretic spawn--a plague and a curse be on all such! Go to, thou... more...

CHAPTER I "Hold up there, you pint o' peanuts! Hold up, I say! Well, for the love of spread eagle! I suppose you boys are lookin' for a job; eh?" The speaker, a typical, raw-boned cowboy, looked down from his pony at three boys seated on a bench at the side of the cook-house. "Whether we are or not, we've got it, Kid," answered one of the seated trio, a well set-up youth... more...

On Board the “Osprey”—Off the Coast of Africa. A dense mist hung over the ocean; the sky above our heads was of a grey tint; the water below our feet of the colour of lead. Not a ripple disturbed its mirror-like surface, except when now and then a covey of flying fish leaped forth to escape from their pursuers, or it was clove by the fin of a marauding shark. We knew that we were not far off the... 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...