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Category： Author：John Habberton
TRIXY was not a babe, for she had passed her seventh birthday and was as wise and irrepressible as the only child of a loving father and mother usually becomes. Her parents and relations continued to allude to her as "the baby," and they might still be doing so had not certain of her deeds checked them, and compelled them to restrict t...
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Category： Author：novel
In a poor part of London, but not in the very poorest part—two children sat on a certain autumn evening, side by side on a doorstep. The eldest might have been ten, the youngest eight. The eldest was a girl, the youngest a boy. Drawn up in front of these children, looking into their little faces with hungry, loving, patheti...
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Category： Author：Lyman Frank Baum 弗兰克·鲍姆
It's no use; no use at all. The children won't let me stop telling tales of the Land of Oz. I know lots of other stories, and I hope to tell them, some time or another; but just now my loving tyrants won't allow me. They cry: "Oz—Oz! more about Oz, Mr. Baum!" and what can I do but obey their commands?
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Category： Author：novel
Little Bob Taylor was mad, discouraged, and thoroughly miserable. Things had gone wrong—as things have the perverse habit of doing with mischievous, fun-loving boys of ten—and he was disgruntled, disgusted. The school year drawing to a close had been one of dreary drudgery; at least that was the retrospective view he took of it. And wa...
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Category： Author：novel
The river was the stream of Death, and the lone voyager floating out on its rushing tide was a loved and loving young wife.
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Category： Author：novel
The Broadstream punt was grating gently on the pebbles at the South Side. Morning, gowned in silver grey, with trimmings of gold, still slept voluptuously on her divan in the Orient East. The mists were slowly lifting from the river, but hung yet lovingly along the creeks and upon the reedy lagoons.
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Category： Author：novel
The troubles and sorrows of Linda Tressel, who is the heroine of the little story now about to be told, arose from the too rigid virtue of her nearest and most loving friend,—as troubles will sometimes come from rigid virtue when rigid virtue is not accompanied by sound sense, and especially when it knows little or nothing of the softn...
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Category： Author：novel
This Memoir was written for, and at the request of, the near relatives, and intimate friends, of the home-loving country gentleman, whose unlooked-for death had made them all mourners indeed. Had it been meant originally for publication, it would have taken a very different form. In compiling it, my whole thoughts were fixed on my own...
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Category： Author：novel
In addition to many other blessings, God has given to us, Gaels of the Irish land, the priceless gift of humour, the saving grace of laughter. May we never lose them! They have been good friends to us in the days of darkness; let it be one of our duties to nurture and strengthen them in the brighter day that has already dawned in Eirin...
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Category： Author：novel
Marjorie was a feast for beauty-loving eyes as she sat on the wide stone edge of the silver-spraying fountain with its musical murmur of water splashing into a white marble basin. The mannish cut of her gray knickered riding clothes merely made her look more than ever like a little girl. From under her little round gray hat with its bi...
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