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...

CHAPTER I A QUEER HUNT "Let me count noses now, to see if you're all here," said Mother Bunker with a laugh, as her flock of children gathered around her. "Don't you want some help?" asked Grandma Bell. "Can you count so many boys and girls all alone, Amy?" "Oh, I think so," answered Mother Bunker. "You see I am used to it. I count them every time we come to the woods, and each time I start for home, to be sure none has been left behind. Now... more...

The Hunters. It was on a cold winter morning long ago, that Robin Gore, a bold hunter of the backwoods of America, entered his parlour and sat him down to breakfast. Robin’s parlour was also his dining-room, and his drawing-room, besides being his bedroom and his kitchen. In fact, it was the only room in his wooden hut, except a small apartment, opening off it, which was a workshop and lumber-room. Robin’s family consisted of... more...

CHAPTER I. A MILL-HAND'S MANSION. 'It's a dreadful thing to have a father you don't respect,' said Sarah Clay, as she walked into the gilded and beautifully painted drawing-room of the aforesaid father's mansion in Yorkshire. Her mother gave a little, sharp scream, and let fall the book she was holding in her hand. Sarah came forward swiftly, picked it up, and turned it over to look at the title, at sight of which she said, with a little... 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, path, and flowerbed in a universal pall of... more...

CHAPTER I. HOME AGAIN It was a clear, apple-green evening in May, and Four Winds Harbour was mirroring back the clouds of the golden west between its softly dark shores. The sea moaned eerily on the sand-bar, sorrowful even in spring, but a sly, jovial wind came piping down the red harbour road along which Miss Cornelia's comfortable, matronly figure was making its way towards the village of Glen St. Mary. Miss Cornelia was rightfully Mrs.... more...

CHAPTER I PLANS Doctor Hugh leaned back in his swivel chair and looked anxiously at his mother. "I don't believe you realize how incessant the noise will be," he urged. "Every morning hammering and sawing and the inevitable shouting and argument that seem to attend all building operations, especially when the job is one of alteration, like this." "I shall not mind the noise, dear," said Mrs. Willis tranquilly. "Let me see the plans again."... more...

THE CHAPERON "GIRLS,—come down! Quick!—I want to see how you look!" Prudence stood at the foot of the stairs, deftly drawing on her black silk gloves,—gloves still good in Prudence's eyes, though Fairy had long since discarded them as unfit for service. There was open anxiety in Prudence's expression, and puckers of worry perpendicularly creased her white forehead. "Girls!" she called again. "Come down! Father, you'd better... more...

CHAPTER I. MISS POLLY Miss Polly Harrington entered her kitchen a little hurriedly this June morning. Miss Polly did not usually make hurried movements; she specially prided herself on her repose of manner. But to-day she was hurrying—actually hurrying. Nancy, washing dishes at the sink, looked up in surprise. Nancy had been working in Miss Polly's kitchen only two months, but already she knew that her mistress did not usually hurry.... more...

CHAPTER I THE ROSEWOOD BOX The telephone bell cut sharp into Polly’s story. She was recounting one of the merry hours that Mrs. Jocelyn had given to her and Leonora, while Dr. Dudley and his wife were taking their wedding journey. Still dimpling with laughter, she ran across to the instrument; but as she turned back from the message her face was troubled. “Father says I am to come right over to the hospital,” she told her... more...