Juvenile Fiction Books

CHAPTER I. A LETTER FOR SUNNYSIDE COTTAGE. Thomas Dawson was busy in the kitchen trying to make the kettle boil, and to get the fire clear that he might do a piece of toast. He had already tidied up the grate and swept the floor, and as he stood by the table with the loaf in his hand, about to cut a slice, his eye wandered down through the dewy, sunny garden, where every tree and bush was beginning to... more...

"Every state,Allotted to the race of man below,Is in proportion, doom'd to taste some sorrow."—Rowe. The Ion family were at home again after their summer on the New Jersey coast. It was a delightful morning early in October: the dew-drops on the still green grass of the neatly kept lawn sparkled in the rays of the newly risen sun; the bright waters of the lakelet also, as, ruffled by the... more...

CHAPTER I. "Heigh-ho! I wonder what comes next?" sighed Cabot Grant as he tumbled wearily into bed. The day just ended marked the close of a most important era in his life; for on it he had been graduated from the Technical Institute, in which he had studied his chosen profession, and the coveted sheepskin that entitled him to sign M.E. in capital letters after his name had been in his... more...

CHAPTER I "GUESS DAY" AT SPRUCE BEACH "Has anyone sighted them yet?" "No." "What can be the matter?" "You know, their specialty is going to the bottom. Possibly they've gone there once too often." "Don't!" shuddered a young woman. "Try not to be gruesome always,George." The young man laughed as he turned aside. Everyone and his friend at... more...

PROUD AND LAZY. I. Tommy Woggs was a funny little boy. He was very proud and very lazy. He seemed to think he was a great man, and that other people lived only to serve and obey him. None of the boys and girls liked him, because he used to order them round, and because he thought himself so much better than they were. Tommy's father was a doctor, and a rich man. He could afford to have servants to... more...

I. GRANDPAPA'S HOUSE."Now for the dear, dear country,Its trees and meadows fair,Its roses, cowslips, violets,Whose sweetness fills the air."'Tis there we hear the musicOf lark's and blackbird's song,And merry little finches,Singing the whole day long."—C. H. One bright spring day, not so very long ago, three little children arrived at their grandfather's house.... more...

A Fish out of Water. It was such a fine hot Midsummer day at Hollowdell station, that the porter had grown tired of teasing the truck-driver’s dog, and fallen fast asleep—an example which the dog had tried to follow, but could not, because there was only one shady spot within the station-gates, and that had been taken possession of by the porter; so the poor dog had tried first one place, and then... more...

Preface. It is almost allowable, I think, to say that this is a true story, for fiction has only been introduced for the purpose of piecing together and making a symmetrical whole of a number of most interesting facts in regard to Madagascar and the terrible persecutions that took place there in the early part and middle of the present century. I have ventured to modify time and place somewhat, as well... more...

Chapter One. “Heigh-Ho-Ha-Hum! Oh dear me!” “What’s matter, sir?” “Matter, Dirty Dick? Nothing; only, heigh-ho-ha! Oh dear me, how sleepy I am!” “Well, sir, I wouldn’t open my mouth like that ’ere, ’fore the sun’s up.” “Why not?” “No knowing what you might swallow off this here nasty, cold, foggy, stony coast.” “There you go again, Dick; not so good as Lincolnshire... more...

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