FOUR YEARS OLD "I was four yesterday; when I'm quite old I'll have a cricket-ball made of pure gold; I'll never stand up to show that I'm grown; I'll go at liberty upstairs or down." He trotted upstairs. Perhaps trotting is not quite the right word, but I can't find a better. It wasn't at all like a horse or pony trotting, for he went one foot at a time, right foot first, and when right foot was safely landed on a step, up came... more...

An Independent Young Gentleman. “I want do d’an’ma!” This sudden and unexpected exclamation, uttered as it was in a shrill little voice like that of a piping bullfinch, and coming from nowhere in particular, as far as he could make out, for he had fancied himself all alone on the platform, made the tall railway porter almost jump out of his skin, as he expressed it, startling him out of his seven senses. He was a... more...

CHAPTER I ASTOUNDING NEWS FROM THE SHORE "This is most astounding news!" exclaimed Captain Horatio Passford. It was on the deck of the magnificent steam-yacht Bellevite, of which he was the owner; and with the newspaper, in which he had read only a few of the many head-lines, still in his hand, he rushed furiously across the deck, in a state of the most intense agitation. It would take more than one figure to indicate the number of millions... more...

CHAPTER I. WHEN one has a good tale to tell, he should try to be brief, and not say more than he can help ere he makes a fair start; so I shall not say a word of what took place on board the ship till we had been six days in a storm. The barque had gone far out of her true course, and no one on board knew where we were. The masts lay in splints on the deck, a leak in the side of the ship let more in than the crew could pump out, and each one... more...

INTRODUCTION. Eleanor and I are subject to fads. Indeed, it is a family failing. (By the family I mean our household, for Eleanor and I are not, even distantly, related.) Life would be comparatively dull, up away here on the moors, without them. Our fads and the boys’ fads are sometimes the same, but oftener distinct. Our present one we would not so much as tell them of on any account; because they would laugh at us. It is this. We purpose... more...

CHAPTER I A STRANGE RESCUE "Can't I have a ride now, Russ? You said it would be my turn after Mun Bun." "Yes, but, Margy, I haven't had enough ride yet!" declared Mun Bun. "But when can I get in and have my ride?" The three little children, two girls and a boy, stood in front of their older brother, Russ, watching him tying an old roller skate on the end of a board. "Can't I have any more rides?" asked the smallest boy. "In a minute, Mun... more...

CHAPTER I AN ESKIMO IGLOO "How could William get the croup that way?" Violet asked with much emphasis. Of course, Vi was always asking questions—so many questions, indeed, that it was often impossible for her elders to answer them all; and certainly Rose and Russ Bunker, who were putting together a "cut-up" puzzle on the table, could not be bothered by Vi's insistence. "I don't see how he could have got the croup that way," repeated the... more...

CHAPTER I THE MAN ON THE PORCH "Oh, Daddy, come and take him off! He's a terrible big one, and he's winkin' one of his claws at me! Come and take him off!" "All right, Mun Bun. I'll be there in just a second. Hold him under water so he won't let go, and I'll get him for you." Daddy Bunker, who had been reading the paper on the porch of Cousin Tom's bungalow at Seaview, hurried down to the little pier that was built out into Clam River. On the... more...

"A THUNDER STROKE" "Whew!" said Russ Bunker, looking out into the driving rain. "Whew!" repeated Rose, standing beside him. "Whew!" said Vi, and "Whew!" echoed Laddie, while Margy added "Whew!" "W'ew!" lisped Mun Bun last of all, standing on tiptoe to see over the high windowsill. Mun Bun could not quite say the letter "h"; that is why he said "W'ew!" Such a September rain the six little Bunkers had never seen before, for the very good... more...

CHAPTER I SAMMIE'S STORY They were playing on the lawn of Aunt Jo's house—the little Bunkers, six of them. You could count them, if you wanted to, but it was rather hard work, as they ran about so—like chickens, Mrs. Bunker was wont to say—that it was hard to keep track of them. So you might take my word for it, now, that there were six of them, and count them afterward, if you care to. "Come on!" cried the eldest... more...