George Fenn: 370 books

An unusual tale for younger readers.

“Matter, Saxe, my boy? Well, this. I undertook to take you back to your father and mother some day, sound in wind and limb; but if you begin like that, the trip’s over, and we shall have to start back for England in less than a week—at least, I shall, with my luggage increased by a case containing...

Philip Hexton strode up the next moment, nodded shortly to the men, stepped into the crowded cage, and giving the signal, the stout iron-framed contrivance began rapidly to descend, and the fresh comer, who was still very new at these descents, felt that strange sensation as the cage rushed down,...

HMS Teaser, a clipper-gunboat, patrols the China Seas on the lookout for pirates.

The sisters stopped at the road-side to gaze at the long low ivy-covered cottage, with a broad patch of green in front, upon which was a lumber of broken carts and waggons waiting to be doctored. There was a shed at one end, from which came the sound of sawing, for which job there was a good-sized...

You will excuse me for a moment? I must take another sheet of paper—I, Laura Bozerne, virgin and martyr, of Chester Square, Belgravia—for that last sheet was all spotted with tears, and when I applied my handkerchief, and then the blotting-paper, the glaze was gone and the ink ran. Ce n’est...

Slegge said it was all “bosh;” for fifty years ago a boy at school had not learned to declare that everything which did not suit his taste was “rot.” So Slegge stood leaning up against the playground wall with a supercilious sneer upon his lip, and said it was all “bosh,” and only fit...

The boy looked full in the speaker’s face, thrust his hands into the pockets of his brown linen trousers, and began to whistle softly. “There, good-bye, Wilson. The sun will soon be overpowering, and I want to get on.” “Well, you’ve got the tide to help you for the next three hours. Sorry...

Two middies talking in the stern-sheets of the cutter belonging to Her Majesty’s fast little cruiserNautilus, stationed on the west coast of Africa “blackberrying,” so the men called their duty, Tom Fillot, one of their jokers, giving as the reason that the job was “black and berry nasty.”...

Joe Carstairs is a boy on a farm in Australia. His father is a keen naturalist who, some years before had set off for New Guinea in search of specimens, and never been heard of again. Joe is old enough to mount a search expedition, and takes with him a local doctor and an aboriginal worker on his...

The gentlemen named strode into the roughly-furnished kitchen-like room, looking as unlike a clergyman and a lawyer as could be imagined, for both were dressed in well-worn garments, half farmer, half back wood settler, the one with a thistle staff or spud in his hand, the other shouldering a double...