Juvenile Fiction Books

FAIRPORT. Were you ever on the coast of Maine? If so, you know how the rocky shores stretch out now and then clear into the ocean, and fret the salt waves till they are all in a foam. Old Ocean is not to be so set at defiance and have his rightful territory wrung from him, without taking his revenge after his own fashion. Far up into the land he sends his arms, and crooks and bends and makes his way... more...

"Mother, make Ted stop!" "I'm not doing anything at all, Mother!" "Yes he is, too! Please call him in. He's hurting my doll." "Oh, Janet Martin, I am not!" "You are so, Theodore Baradale Martin; and you've just got to stop!" Janet, or Jan, as she was more often called, stood in front of her brother with flashing eyes and red cheeks. "Children!... more...

CHAPTER I RÉNÉ DE VEAUX On a dreary winter's day, early in the year 1564, young Réné de Veaux, who had just passed his sixteenth birthday, left the dear old chateau where he had spent his happy and careless boyhood, and started for Paris. Less than a month before both his noble father and his gentle mother had been taken from him by a terrible fever that had swept over the country, and Réné... more...

PUSS AND THE CAPTAIN. I am going to relate the history of a pleasant and prosperous life; for though a few misfortunes may have befallen me, my pleasures have far exceeded them, and especially I have been treated with such constant cordiality and kindness as would not fail to ensure the happiness of man or beast. But though I have no reason to complain of my destiny, it is a remarkable fact, that my... more...

A Summons. The snow lay thick round Maxfield Manor. Though it had been falling scarcely an hour, it had already transfigured the dull old place from a gloomy pile of black and grey into a gleaming vision of white. It lodged in deep piles in the angles of the rugged gables, and swirled up in heavy drifts against the hall-door. It sat heavily on the broad ivy-leaves over the porch, and blotted out lawn,... more...

CHAPTER I. TEARS."A maid whom there were none to praise,And very few to love."—Wordsworth. Marjory was lying under a tree in the wood beyond her uncle's garden; her head was hidden in the long, soft coat of a black retriever, and she was crying—sobbing bitterly as if her heart would break, and as if nothing could ever comfort her again. "O Silky," she moaned, "if you only... more...

MARJORIE'S WAY.  don't care," said Ermengarde. "I won't do it! I won't obey her!" "What are you saying, Ermie?" Ermengarde was standing by the dressing-table in her room. She had been talking half to herself; she now turned quickly round, and confronted a plain little girl of between eleven and twelve. "Is that you, Marjorie? I didn't know you were... more...

When a boy is not a boy. “Fine morning, Jack; why don’t you go and have a run?” John Meadows—always “Jack,” because his father’s name was John—upon hearing that father’s voice, raised his dull, dreamy eyes slowly from the perusal of the old Latin author over which he was bending, and looked in Sir John’s face, gazing at him inquiringly as if he had been walking with Cicero in... more...

MARY'S MEADOW. CHAPTER I. Mother is always trying to make us love our neighbors as ourselves. She does so despise us for greediness, or grudging, or snatching, or not sharing what we have got, or taking the best and leaving the rest, or helping ourselves first, or pushing forward, or praising Number One, or being Dogs in the Manger, or anything selfish. And we cannot bear her to despise us! We... more...

FANNY'S BIRTHDAY. Here is a nice new book! It is mine. Papa has just given it to me, for this is my birth-day, and I am five years old. Oh, how pretty it is! Here are boys and girls at play, like Willie and me; and here is nurse, with baby on her knee. They will call me a dunce if I do not learn to read well, so I will try my very best; for what is the use of a nice book like this, if I cannot... more...