Juvenile Fiction Books

CHRISTMAS EVERY DAY. The little girl came into her papa's study, as she always did Saturday morning before breakfast, and asked for a story. He tried to beg off that morning, for he was very busy, but she would not let him. So he began: “Well, once there was a little pig—” She put her hand over his mouth and stopped him at the word. She said she had heard little pig-stories till she was... more...

CHAPTER I SOME OF THE SCRANTON BOYS "Too bad that rain had to come, and spoil our practice for today, boys!" "Yes, and there's only one more chance for a work-out between now and the game with Belleville on Saturday afternoon, worse luck, because here it's Thursday." "We need all the practice we can get, because if that O.K. fellow, who dropped in to see us from... more...

CHAPTER I. It was a beautiful evening at Viamede: the sun nearing its setting, shadows sleeping here and there upon the velvety flower-bespangled lawn, and filling the air with their delicious perfume, the waters of the bayou beyond reflecting the roseate hues of the sunset clouds, and the song of some negro oarsmen, in a passing boat, coming to the ear in pleasantly mellowed tones. Tea was over, and... more...

CHAPTER I THE SOUTHERN RETREAT A train of wagons and men wound slowly over the hills in the darkness and rain toward the South. In the wagons lay fourteen or fifteen thousand wounded soldiers, but they made little noise, as the wheels sank suddenly in the mud or bumped over stones. Although the vast majority of them were young, boys or not much more, they had learned to be masters of themselves, and... more...

THE BOOMS At nine o'clock one morning Bobby Orde, following an agreement with his father, walked sedately to the Proper Place, where he kept his cap and coat and other belongings. The Proper Place was a small, dark closet under the angle of the stairs. He called it the Proper Place just as he called his friend Clifford Fuller, or the saw-mill town in which he lived Monrovia—because he had always... more...

CHAPTER I TWO MYSTERIES “Not much like last summer, is it, Jack?” “Not much, Frank.” “No Mexican bandits. No Chinese bad men. No dens in Chinatown. Say, Jack, remember how you felt when we were licked in our attempt to escape from that dive out in San Francisco? Boy, that was the time when things looked mighty blue. Jack?” No answer. “Jack?” In a louder tone. Still no answer. Frank... more...

Wish the First.—Under the Sea. ITTLE Effie Gilder's porridge did taste good! and so it ought; for beside that Mother Gilder made it, and Mother Gilder's porridge was always just right, Effie was eating it on her seat upon the sea-shore in front of her father's house. The sun was just going down and the tide was rising, so that the little waves came tumbling up on the beach, as if they... more...

An Accident and some of its Curious Results. Every one has heard of those ponies—those shaggy, chubby, innocent-looking little creatures—for which the world is indebted, we suppose, to Shetland. Well, once on a time, one of the most innocent-looking, chubbiest, and shaggiest of Shetland ponies—a dark brown one—stood at the door of a mansion in the west-end of London. It was attached to a... more...

INTRODUCTION. Dear Friend, I enclose you the manuscript of which you have so long desired possession. You have permission to do what you like with it, on one condition, which is, that you alter all the names, and expunge anything like personality therein; for, as you are aware (with two exceptions) each character mentioned in the story is now alive, and so few years have elapsed since the events... more...

A sound through the darkness. “Phew!” ejaculated Mr Perry, first lieutenant of His Britannic Majesty’s corvette Psyche, as he removed his hat and mopped the perspiration from his streaming forehead with an enormous spotted pocket-handkerchief. “I believe it’s getting hotter instead of cooler; although, by all the laws that are supposed to govern this pestiferous climate, we ought to be close... more...