Juvenile Fiction Books

THE WAIL OF THE WE ARE SEVENS Blue Bonnet raised the blind of the car window, which had been drawn all the afternoon to shut out the blazing sun, and took a view of the flying landscape. Then she consulted the tiny watch at her wrist and sat up with a start. "Grandmother!" she said excitedly, "we'll soon be in Woodford; that is, in just an hour. We're on time, you know.... more...

A STRANGE MESSAGE Uproarious laughter from the girls with the wild flowers arousedCora. Rob Roland was gone. Had she fainted? Was that roaring in her ears just awakened nerves? "Cora! Oh, Cora! We had the most darling time," Bess wasbubbling. "You should have been along. Such a dear old farmer.He showed us the queerest tables. And he had the nicest son.Cora - What is the matter?"... more...

AS FAR AS RIVERPORT. Two persons sat at a small breakfast-table near an open window, high up in Young's Hotel in Boston. It was a pleasant June morning, just after eight o'clock, and they could see the white clouds blowing over; but the gray walls of the Court House were just opposite, so that one cannot say much of their view of the world. The room was pleasanter than most hotel rooms, and... more...

Rodd the Pickle. “Here’s another, uncle.” This was shouted cheerily, and the reply thereto was a low muttering, ending with a grunt. It was a glorious day on Dartmoor, high up in the wildest part amongst the rugged tors, where a bright little river came flashing and sparkling along, and sending the bright beams of the sun in every direction from the disturbed water, as an eager-looking boy busily... more...

ALMOST A FORTUNE "Oh, Dad, I can't believe it's true!" In the rather dim light of the gloomy old room the boys and girls looked queer—almost ghostly. They were gathered about a shabby old trunk, and beside this trunk a man was kneeling. As Billie Bradley spoke, the man, who was her father, rose to his feet and thoughtfully brushed the dust from his clothes. Then he stood looking... more...

The Wreck on the “Gunfleet.” It was emphatically “a dirty night.” The barometer had been slowly but persistently falling during the two previous days; the dawn had been red and threatening, with a strong breeze from S.E.; and as the short dreary November day waxed and waned this strong breeze had steadily increased in strength until by nightfall it had become a regular “November gale,” with... more...

AN UNTHANKFUL ORPHAN y name is Mary Cary. I live in the Yorkburg Female Orphan Asylum. You may think nothing happens in an Orphan Asylum. It does. The orphans are sure enough children, and real much like the kind that have Mothers and Fathers; but though they don't give parties or wear truly Paris clothes, things happen, and that's why I am going to write this story. To-day I was kept in.... more...

CHAPTER I "OLD DUT" TELLS A STORY—DICK ANOTHER—— "Master Prescott, what are you doing?" The voice of Mr. E. Dutton Jones rasped out rather sharply, jarring on the generally studious air of the eighth-grade room of the Central Grammar School. "What were you doing, Master Prescott?" repeated the stern voice of the principal. Dick Prescott had glanced up, somewhat startled... more...

A GHASTLY DISCOVERY "Look at that!" Instantly Fred Button and his companion halted and the two boys stared at the sight to which their attention had been directed. Even their guide, who at that time was several yards behind, hastened to join them and was almost as shocked by the sight as was his young companions. "What is it? What is it?" whispered John. "Can't you see?"... more...

PRIVATE PROPERTY The broad Hudson shimmered gaily in the sunshine of late summer, tiny rippling splashes of white dotted its surface and some of the joy of the day was reflected in the faces of the three girls who sat on the hillside far above the river bank, each intent on her own thoughts. For a long time no one had spoken. Bet Baxter was watching a seagull rising, wheeling, soaring and settling... more...