STORIES FOR CHILDREN THREE AND FOUR YEARS OLD. The arrangement is in the order of degree of difficulty. Where the title would naturally appear in the library catalogue, the author's name only is given. Where a title appears in several lists, the source is given only in one, which is indicated by giving the page number in bold face type preceding title in the index at the end of this pamphlet. Many... more...

NOTE The motif of the story embodied in the following poem was crudely outlined in a brief sketch printed in an early collection of the authors verse, and subsequently cancelled for a purpose not until now accomplished. Wyndham Towers is not to be confused with this discarded sketch, the text of which has furnished only a phrase, or an indirect suggestion, here and there. That the writer's method,... more...

How I saw my Queen. Every story, whether wise or foolish, grave or gay, must needs have a beginning. How it comes to pass that my story begins on a certain day in May, in the year of our Lord 1585, I can never, although I am far on in life now, properly explain. For that was not the day on which I was born. That adventure had befallen me eighteen years before, at the parson’s little house in Felton... more...

CHAPTER I EXCITEMENT IN THE FOOTHILLS The foothills of the Kentucky Mountains echoed to the strains of a rollicking college song, as Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders rode into a laurel-bordered clearing and dismounted to make their first camp of this, their third summer's outing in the saddle. Only one of the party remained on his mount. This one was Washington Washington, the colored boy that... more...

CHAPTER I THE LONE FIGURE The night was bleak and cold. All through the melancholy, cheerless day, the first chill of autumn had been in the air. Toward evening the clouds had parted, showing a steel-colored sky in which the sun went down a great red ball, tinting the foliage across the river with a glow of crimson. A sun full of rich light but no heat. The air was heavy with the pungent fragrance of... more...

PREFACE. I was in hopes that this volume might have gone its way without preface; but as I look over the sheets, I find in them various fallings short of old purposes which require a word of explanation. Of which shortcomings, the chief is the want of reference to the landscape of the Poussins and Salvator; my original intention having been to give various examples of their mountain-drawing, that it... more...

THE MADNESS OF MAY I Billy Deering let himself into his father’s house near Radford Hills, Westchester County, and with a nod to Briggs, who came into the hall to take his hat and coat, began turning over the letters that lay on the table. “Mr. Hood has arrived, sir,” the servant announced. “I put him in the south guest-room.” Deering lifted his head with a jerk. “Hood—what Hood?”... more...

I The time was the year of grace 1779; the locality, Morristown, New Jersey. It was bitterly cold. A northeasterly wind had been stiffening the mud of the morning's thaw into a rigid record of that day's wayfaring on the Baskingridge road. The hoof-prints of cavalry, the deep ruts left by baggage-wagons, and the deeper channels worn by artillery, lay stark and cold in the waning light of an... more...

THE VISITOR'S SHADOW. Randal Bellamy's country house was a place of pleasant breakfasts. From the dining room the outlook was delightful; grass, flowers and sunshine, with the host's easy charm, made it almost as easy for Theophilus Caldegard to drink his tea fresh, as for his daughter Amaryllis not to keep her host, Sir Randal, waiting for his coffee. This morning, while she waited for... more...

CHAPTER I. THE BIRCH-BARK MESSAGE. "Hold on, boys; here's a stick standing upright in the trail. And look, fellows, there's a piece of nice new birch bark held fast in the cloven end, that grips it like the jaws of a vise." "Say, it's a message, all right." "And from our crack-a-jack pathfinder, Elmer Chenowith, too, I warrant you." "What do you say, Matty? Is... more...