Morning in the Grifoni Palace. Near the banks of the river Arno, in an upper room of the beautiful old palace of the Grifoni family, Beppina, the twelve-year-old daughter of the Marchese, lay peacefully sleeping. In his own room across the hall from hers, Beppo, her twin brother, slept also, though it was already early dawn of Easter Saturday in the city of Florence, and both children had meant to be up before the sun, that no hour of the... more...

Treats of the Engine-Driver’s House and Household. Talk of earthquakes! not all the earthquakes that have rumbled in Ecuador or toppled over the spires and dwellings of Peru could compare, in the matter of dogged pertinacity, with that earthquake which diurnally and hourly shocked little Gertie’s dwelling, quivered the white dimity curtains of little Gertie’s bed and shook little Gertie’s frame. A graceful, rounded little... more...

A Romance of Old Albion. Opens with Leave-Taking. Nearly two thousand seven hundred years ago—or somewhere about eight hundred years B.C.—there dwelt a Phoenician sea-captain in one of the eastern sea-ports of Greece—known at that period, or soon after, as Hellas. This captain was solid, square, bronzed, bluff, and resolute, as all sea-captains are—or ought to be—whether ancient or modern. He owned, as well as... more...

Chapter One. Peter’s Home and Friends. “Are you better, mother, to-day?” asked little Peter, as he went up to the bed on which Widow Gray lay, in a small chamber of their humble abode. “I trust so, my boy,” she answered, in a doubtful tone, as she gazed fondly on the ruddy, broad, honest face of her only child, and put aside the mass of light hair which clustered curling over his brow, to imprint on it a loving... more...

CHAPTER I "Kicker" Drayne Revolts "I'm going to play quarter-back," declared Drayne stolidly. "You?" demanded Captain Dick Prescott, looking at the aspirant in stolid wonder. "Of course," retorted Drayne. "It's the one position I'm best fitted for of all on the team." "Do you mean that you're better fitted for that post than anyone else on the team?" inquired Prescott. "Or that it's the position that best fits your talents?" "Both," replied... more...

CHAPTER I MR. TITMOUSE DOESN'T KNOW DICK "We thought ten dollars would be about right," Dick Prescott announced. "Per week?" inquired Mr. Titmouse, as though he doubted his hearing. "Oh, dear, no! For the month of August, sir." Mr. Newbegin Titmouse surveyed his young caller through half-closed eyelids. "Ten dollars for the use of that fine wagon for a whole month?" cried Mr. Titmouse in astonishment. "Absurd!" "Very likely I am looking at... more...

CHAPTER I THE MAN IN THE FOUR-QUART HAT "You'll find your man in the lobby of the Eagle Hotel or in the neighborhood of the hotel on Main Street," said Dick Prescott. "You can hardly miss him." "But how will I know Mr. Hibbert, when I see him?" pursued the stranger. "I don't know that his name is Hibbert," Dick answered. "However, he is the only young man who has just reached town fresh from Europe. His trunks are pasted all over with... more...

CHAPTER I THE "SPLENDID" WAR CANOE "It's the wreck of one of the grandest enterprises ever conceived by the human mind!" complained Colonel W.P. Grundy, in a voice broken with emotion. A group of small boys grinned, though they offered no audible comment. "Such defeats often—-usually, in fact—-come to those who try to educate the masses and bring popular intelligence to a higher level," was the colonel's declaration, as he wiped... more...

The Grateful Indian, A Tale of Rupert’s Land. By William H.G. Kingston. We cannot boast of many fine evenings in old England—dear old England for all that!—and when they do come they are truly lovely and worthy of being prized the more. It was on one of the finest of a fine summer that Mr Frampton, the owner of a beautiful estate in Devonshire, was seated on a rustic bench in his garden, his son Harry, who stood at his knee,... more...

Chapter I A JOLT ON A QUIET DAY "There's just one thing that I keep thinking about on a day like this," Dave Darrin sighed contentedly. "What's that?" Tom Reade wanted to know. "Supper?" Darrin turned, favoring Reade with a flash of disgust from his large, dark eyes. "I'm still waiting for the information," insisted Tom after a short pause. "You may as well wait," retorted Dave. "You wouldn't understand what I feel, anyway. Any fellow who... more...