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Showing: 1871-1880 results of 1892

Dry-Rot. Bolsover College was in a bad temper. It often was; for as a rule it had little else to do; and what it had, was usually a less congenial occupation. Bolsover, in fact, was a school which sadly needed two trifling reforms before it could be expected to do much good in the world. One was, that all its masters should be dismissed; the other was, that all its boys should be expelled. When these little changes had been effected there was... more...

THE INVITATION "Any news, mother?" asked Edna one Friday afternoon when she came home from school. "There's a letter from grandma," replied Mrs. Conway after kissing the lips held up to hers. "There isn't any real news in it, but there is an invitation." "What kind of an invitation?" "A Thanksgiving kind." "Oh, mother, what do you mean?" "I mean that grandma wants us all to spend an old-fashioned Thanksgiving with her; the kind she used to... more...

THE INVITATION "Oh, push it harder, much harder, so I can go away up to the tree tops," cried Jerry. "Don't you just love to fly through the air this way?" Mary Lee gave the swing one more push. "There!" she exclaimed, "that's the best I can do, Geraldine White. I'm hot all over now," and she dropped down on the soft grass at the foot of a big tree. "After the old cat dies, I'll give you a fine swing," promised Jerry. "You'll think you're in... more...

CHAPTER I THE STORM “Margot! Margot!” Mother Angelique’s anxious call rang out over the water, once, twice, many times. But, though she shaded her brows with her hands and strained her keen ears to listen, there was no one visible and no response came back to her. So she climbed the hill again and, reëntering the cabin, began to stir with almost vicious energy the contents of a pot swinging in the wide fireplace. As she... more...

IN A LONELY CABIN On the edge of a prairie, in western Iowa, thirty years ago, stood a cabin, covering quite a little ground, but only one story high. It was humble enough, but not more so than the early homes of some who have become great. The furniture was limited to articles of prime necessity. There was a stove, a table, three chairs, a row of shelves containing a few articles of crockery and tinware, and a bed in the far corner of the... more...


A FRAGMENT Part I "Those never lovedWho dream that they 'loved once.'"—E. B. Browning. "You won't be long any way, dear Auntie?" said Sylvia with a little sigh. "I don't half like your going. Couldn't you wait till the day after to-morrow?" "Or at least take me with you," said Molly, Sylvia's younger sister, eagerly. Auntie hesitated—she glanced up at as much of the sky as could be seen through the lace-shrouded windows of their... more...

A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY Three men who had gained great fame and honour throughout the world met unexpectedly in front of the bookstall at Paddington Station. Like most of the great ones of the earth they were personally acquainted, and they exchanged surprised greetings. Sir Angus McCurdie, the eminent physicist, scowled at the two others beneath his heavy black eyebrows. "I'm going to a God-forsaken place in Cornwall called Trehenna," said he.... more...

THE OLD HOUSE. In the street, up there, was an old, a very old house,—it was almost three hundred years old, for that might be known by reading the great beam on which the date of the year was carved: together with tulips and hop-binds there were whole verses spelled as in former times, and over every window was a distorted face cut out in the beam. The one story stood forward a great way over the other; and directly under the eaves... more...

BABY TED. "Where did you get those eyes so blue?" "Out of the sky as I came through." Christmas week a good many years ago. Not an "old-fashioned" Christmas this year, for there was no snow or ice; the sky was clear and the air pure, but yet without the sharp, bracing clearness and purity that Master Jack Frost brings when he comes to see us in one of his nice, bright, sunny humours. For he has humours as well as other... more...

A FISHING VILLAGE Of the tens of thousands of excursionists who every summer travel down by rail to Southend, there are few indeed who stop at Leigh, or who, once at Southend, take the trouble to walk three miles along the shore to the fishing village. It may be doubted, indeed, whether along the whole stretch of coastline from Plymouth to Yarmouth there is a village that has been so completely overlooked by the world. Other places, without a... more...