CHAPTER I. PAUL DUNCAN DISOBEYS ORDERS. "I'll give you a quarter, Paul, if you will take me down to the Point in your boat," said Thomas Nettle, as he came down to the beach where the boy addressed was baling out an old dingy-looking boat. "It blows too hard," replied Paul Duncan. "The club went down in their boat." "But it didn't blow so hard then as it does now. It's a regular sou'easter." "What are you afraid of, Paul?" "I'm not afraid;... more...

LITTLE FERNS. WHERE IS LITTLE NELLY? She is not in the garden; I have searched under every bush and tree. She is not asleep in the summer-house, or in the old barn. She is not feeding the speckled chickens, or gathering buttercups in the meadows. Her little dog Fidele is weary waiting for her, and her sweet-voiced canary has forgotten to sing. Has anybody seen my little Nelly? She had eyes blue as the summer heavens, hair like woven sunbeams,... more...

CHAPTER I. DOTTY'S BABYHOOD. Alice was the youngest of the Parlin family. When Grandma Read called the children into the kitchen, and told them about their new little sister, Susy danced for joy; and Prudy, in her delight, opened the cellar door, and fell down the whole length of the stairs. However, she rolled as softly as a pincushion, and was not seriously hurt. "But you can't go into mother's room," said Susy, "you're crying so hard."... more...

CHAPTER I. KEEPING SECRETS. We might begin this story of Susy Parlin on a New Year's day, only it is so hard to skip over Christmas. There is such a charm about Christmas! It makes you think at once of a fir tree shining with little candles and sparkling with toys, or of a droll Santa Claus with a pack full of presents, or of a waxen angel called the Christ-child. And it is just as well to date from the twenty-fifth of December, because, as... more...

I. BELOW STAIRS. The children came home from school—Charles and Lucy. "I have a surprise for you in the kitchen," said their mother, Mrs. Van Buren. "No, take off your things first, then you may go down and see. Now don't laugh—a laugh that hurts anyone's feelings is so unkind—tip-toe too! No, Charlie, one at a time; let Lucy go first." Lucy tip-toed with eyes full of wonder to the dark banister-stairs that led down to the... more...

John-ny Wil-son and Ned Brown were play-ing at ball one day, and the ball hit John on the hand: he was ve-ry an-gry, and ran af-ter Ned and beat him ve-ry hard. Just then, a man came by and gave John a box on the ear which made him let go of Ned, and he be-gan to cry. Then the man said, “You beat that lit-tle boy and for-get how you hurt him, but you do not like it your-self." Then John was sor-ry, and said he would ne-ver do so any more;... more...

LITTLE TORA. The kindly doctor was entertaining his brother-in-law, and all the family were sitting round the table in state. The polished silver and shining glass, with porcelain, flowers, and fruit, seemed to be all that had been provided for the dinner. The usual "grace" had hardly been said, when a trim maid announced that a little girl was at the door, who must see the doctor about something particular. "There is nobody sick more than... more...

THE LOCK-HOUSE.   he mist of a July morning shrouded the river and its banks. It was a soft thin mist, not at all like a winter fog, and through it, and high above it, the sun was shining, and the larks singing; and Edward Rowles, the lock-keeper, knew well that within an hour or two the brightest sunshine would gladden England's river Thames. He came out from his house, which was overgrown with honeysuckle and clematis, and he looked up... more...

Preface. It was originally my intention to leave the child of my imagination to make its way where it would, without any letter of introduction in the form of the usual prefatory address to the reader; but having been assured that a preface is indispensable, I am laid under the necessity of formally giving a little insight into the character of the possible inmate of many a happy home. Reader, the following pages claim no interest on the score... more...

CHAPTER . MR. WITTLEWORTH GETS SHAVED. "Next gentleman!" said André Maggimore, one of the journeyman barbers in the extensive shaving saloon of Cutts & Stropmore, which was situated near the Plutonian temples of State Street, in the city of Boston. "Next gentleman!" repeated André, in tones as soft and feminine as those of a woman, when no one responded to his summons. "My turn?" asked a spare young man of sixteen, throwing... more...