CHAPTER I. THE POST OFFICE AT WAYNEBORO. "If we could only keep the post office, mother, we should be all right," said Herbert Carr, as he and his mother sat together in the little sitting room of the plain cottage which the two had occupied ever since he was a boy of five. "Yes, Herbert, but I am afraid there won't be much chance of it." "Who would want to take it from you, mother?" "Men are selfish, Herbert, and there is no office, however... more...

The Hero’s Early Days—Bloxholme, its Squire, His Family and Dependents. “I’ll not stand it, that I won’t, Master Digby. To think that you, a young gentleman who has plenty to eat and drink of everything that’s nice, and more than enough, too, should come and put your fingers through the paper into my jam pots, which I’ve just been and nicely tied down, and all for mischief’s sake, it’s not to be borne, let me tell you. You’ve... more...

CHAPTER I. Of course there was a baby in the case—a baby and mongrel dog, and a little boy and girl.  They baby was small, and not particularly fair, but it had round limbs and a dimple or two, and a soft, half-pathetic, half-doggy look in its blue eyes, and the usual knack, which most helpless little babies have, of twining itself round the hearts of those who took care of it. The caretakers of this baby were the two children and... more...

In the Fen. Dick Winthorpe—christened Richard by order of his father at the Hall—sat on the top of the big post by the wheelwright’s door. It was not a comfortable seat, and he could only keep his place by twisting his legs round and holding on; but as there was a spice of difficulty in the task, Dick chose it, and sat there opposite Tom Tallington—christened Thomas at the wish of his mother, Farmer Tallington’s... more...

CHAPTER I. THE ESCAPE. The summer sun blazed down scorchingly on the white road, on the wide stretch of moorland in the distance, and on the little coppice which grew not far from the road. The only shady spot for miles, it seemed, was that one under the trees in the little coppice, where the caravan stood; but even there the heat was stifling, and the smell of hot blistering varnish mingled with the faint scent of honeysuckle and dog-roses.... more...

CHAPTER I. LIFE IN THE ORPHANAGE. Long before it was light, little feet were passing up and down those great stone stairs, little voices whispered in the corridors, little night-dresses rustled by the superintendent's door. She did not think of sleeping, for though the moon still hung in the sky, it was Christmas morning—five o'clock on Christmas morning at the Orphanage; and the little ones had everything their own way on Christmas Day.... more...

In the West Countree. “Derry down, derry down, derry down!” A cheery voice rolling out the chorus of an old west-country ditty. Then there was a run of a few yards, a sudden stoppage, and a round, red missile was thrown with considerable force after a blackcock, which rose on whirring wings from among the heather, his violet-black plumage glistening in the autumn sun, as he skimmed over the moor, and disappeared down the side of a... more...

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The short wintry days were beginning to lengthen, the sun rose earlier and staid up longer. Now and then a bluebird was heard twittering a welcome to the coming spring. As for the robins, they were as pert and busy as usual. The little streams were beginning to find their way out of their icy prison slowly and with trembling, as if they feared old winter might take a step and catch them, and pinch them all up again. Frank and Harry were sorry to... more...

A TALK ON THE DOORSTEPS.   t was one of those afternoons in late April which are as mild and balmy as any June day. The air was full of the chirps and twitters of nest-building birds, and of sweet indefinable odors from half-developed leaf-buds and cherry and pear blossoms. The wisterias overhead were thickly starred with pointed pearl-colored sacs, growing purpler with each hour, which would be flowers before long; the hedges were... more...