[307]CHAPTER XXIXAND THEN NO MORE“Transportation for life was the sentence it gave,Andthento be fined forty pounds.”Ted’schuckle over the inference Freddie left for Dolly to draw from his remark gave place suddenly to an indignant shout.A boy with a large parcel had just entered the gate, and had actually had the temerity to approach the house in the way Dolly had done, regardless of flower-borders. At the moment of Ted’s shout he was setting a desecrating foot recklessly down upon the pansy-bed that was the pride of the house.Ted disentangled himself from the wiles of Weenie, who had occupied herself by chaining him to a garden-seat with trails of wild clematis.“I’ll knock the good-for-nothing little beggar’s head off,” he said, and took a tempestuous step in the direction of the impertinent lad.But Phyl was before him. One great gasp and choking cry she gave, then she broke away from the[308]tea-ring,rushed madlyacross the grass and flower-beds, and to the incredulous astonishment of the family fell upon the boy and his parcel and began to hug him in a way marvellous to behold.Up rose the family to investigate. And lo! it too found itself rushing madly over the well-ordered pansy and primrose retreats, and also falling upon the parcel-carrying youth and hugging him.[Illustration]Rushed madly across the flower-beds.Freddie was the first to recover himself.“I’ll be undoing the parcel, Alf,” he said, “I’d like just to have a look at my drum.”[309]Then Alf laughed. He had been crying like a baby on his step-mother’s shoulder until now.“That’s all the luggage I brought, the rest’s on the ship,” he said, and pulled the brown paper off his parcel.“Chirrup, chirrup!” said the fat little yellow bird, and sang at the sweet sun that the dark paper had hidden away.“Get some water, Weenie, and a bit of green; all the voyage I couldn’t get any green,” said Alf.In through the gate came the doctor’s bicycle, and once again the pansies suffered from the wild impetuosity of humans. Nobody in the least believed their eyes, but each waited for the other to discredit the apparition.“Oh, I know we’re dreaming,” said Dolly; “in a minute we’ll all wake up.”“Oh, will we!” said Weenie contentedly. There had been no standing-room for her in the general rush, and she had fallen on the grass, and was still sitting there embracing the wanderer’s legs.“If we do wake up,” said Alf, and there was a note of almost hysterical gladness in his voice, “I’ll take a dose of your prussic acid, father.”The father’s arm was round his little son’s shoulder; he knew that nothing—no gold or promise of fame—could ever make him willingly let the lad go again.“You shall stop at home now,—there, old fellow,[310]you shall never go back again,” he said from time to time, and little Alf continued to blubber happily.“Just don’t ask me anything yet,” he said in a low tone to his father; “just be as if I’ve only come in from school, will you?”And Dr. Wise, recognizing the state of tension the lad was in, forbade a single question being put to him.But after dinner—there was Queen’s pudding, and the pyramid of icing did not go to Freddie—he pulled himself together and told his story.After he had written that last of his letters to his family and told of his aunt’s sudden death, a strange thing had happened. He found at the bottom of the bird-seed tin, which she had delivered into his hands with so many injunctions, a sealed note.“Here it is,” he said, and with a blurring of eyes took out gently from his waistcoat pocket the short letter written in the stiff, would-be German hand that had become part of herself.The family read it silently, one after the other.“Little Boy,”it said—“When I feel ill as I do to-night my eyes grow clear-sighted. This is no place for you, here with a soured old man and a sourer old maid; you would have grown to far healthier manhood across the sea in that merry family that I have never let you talk about just as much as you wanted. But is it[311]too late? I think you know the way back. I was not blind to the looks you cast at Hamburg and Bremen on the boats that happened to have Sydney for their destination. Suppose you break away from us and make your way back to them all, little Alf? There are times in the lives of many of us when breaking away from a life that stifles the good in us is a necessary as well as a brave thing to do. I was too weak always and have stayed here warping all my life.“I am putting four ten-pound notes with this; they will carry you across the water again if you have the courage to fling the big fortune you would have had to the winds. You have no ties here; grandfather is too old and lives too much to himself to care for you; I would far rather spare you than keep you and watch you grow hard and money-fond like us.“Think of it, little Alf; your mother, my own sister that I played dolls with, makes no softening feeling in me at all now when I think of her. I made myself feel hard to her, years ago, and now when I should like to change and would give the world to feel a natural gush of love for her, I can wake no emotion at all; that is my punishment, for the heart will not be trifled with.“But you, warm from the hearts of all those sisters and brothers—oh, go back to them and be poor and happy, and grow up in the healthy atmosphere of[312]‘give and take’ instead of our most wretched one of ‘keep.’“Little Alf, who has been the kindest, tenderest, most patient laddie all these months, spare sometimes a loving thought to“Your Aunt Helene.”“But I wasn’t what she says at the end,” Alf said in a choking voice; “I’ve been a beast to her,—think how I used to make fun of her in my letters!”But they who knew warm-hearted little Alf knew without telling just in what way he had been a comfort to the lonely, mistaken woman.“Pater,” the boy said wistfully when the general conversation was loud, and the doctor so near he could hear a whisper, “I won’t be very much expense,—are you very vexed with me for chucking the money? I came back steerage, so I’ve got twenty-two pounds left out of the forty. That’ll pay for my food for a long time.”But the doctor, who had always been rather an impetuous, improvident man, blew his nose as loudly as Herr Ollendorf was wont to do, andsaid—“Hang the expense!” with great vigour. “Thank heaven, I’ve got you again, old lad,” he added; “your punishment is, you’ll stop here now, and be poor with the rest of us.”A week later came a German letter. It was from the grandfather’s solicitors, and bore strange news. Alf was[313]his aunt’s heir. Everything she had she had left to him unconditionally. Not a very vast inheritance, it is true, for the poor little woman’s mania for beautiful clothes had greatly crippled a once handsome income. Still, three hundred a year would do many things, and at least keep away the terrible necessity of Alf being compelled to teach German for a living.The letter went on to state the fact of the boy’s disappearance; inquiries had been made, and it seemed reasonable to conclude he had run away from his grandfather’s care, and sailed for Australia by theBarbarossa. “If this proved to be the case,” said the solicitors, “and if the boy had returned, or in process of time did return to his father, then his grandfather washed his hands of him for all time.”The young reprobate leaned back when the reading of the letter reached this point, and sighed relievedly.“That’s something to be thankful for,” he said; “every night I’ve dreamt he’d sent to get me back.”“I’m afraid it’s a stony-hearted laddie,” Mrs. Wise said. “I don’t at all like to picture to myself that lonely old man.”“But he never cared a dump for me—you ask him; why, he nearly used to get a fit sometimes if I came near him; he said I fidgeted so,” Alf said excitedly.“He’s precious glad I cleared, I’ll bet; he only wanted some one to leave his rubbishy money to; the little mummies can have it, and welcome.”“The who?” said the doctor.[314]“Oh, those kids in Egypt,” said Alfred.Dolly was in the corner reading the “further” letter from her publisher-elect, and surely there was a smile wrapped up with the kindly note.“Hello, Dolly looks as if she couldn’t help it,” said Richie, the speaker of slang.“O-o-oh!” said Dolly ruefully, “neither I can.”Down had come many of her card-castles; flat on the earth they lay. The publisher would give her a royalty, and a fair one, on every copy,but—“I cannot entertain paying you such a sum for copyright,” he wrote; “you are entirely unknown as a juvenile writer, and your tale is very short. I can only offer you fifteen pounds for that; but should the book succeed as I expect, the royalties will total up no inconsiderable sum each year.”“Fifteen pounds!” repeated Dolly in a disappointed tone. Last night she and Phyl had lain awake spending the two hundred pounds in most magnificent fashion; a trip to Stevenson’s Samoa for their mother, themselves, and Alf, being the choicest item on the list.“Never mind,” said Freddie kindly, “I can do without the cricket things now, Dolly—Alf’ll get them for me; won’t you, Alf?” and he fondled his millionaire brother’s hand with the most respectful affection.Dolly’s eyes went skimming along over the page to the agent’s disquisition on “Covers.” Russian leather and white parchment with rough edges were[315]impossible, it seemed. Mr. Ledman wrote at length, and with eloquence, of the beauties of gilt edges, and the chaste and elegant appearance of some appropriate floral emblem on a bright red, blue, or green ground. He said he proposed to include it in the well-known “Bluebell Series,” of which they had sold one million copies.But Dolly was not entirely vanquished. She had carried with her for three long days the dear vision of sage-green Russian leather, severely plain and artistic, and the crude colouring of her shelf of “Bluebell Series” made her shudder. The voyage to the Happy Isles she relinquished with a sigh, and wrote that she accepted the offer of fifteen pounds and a royalty. But she added a most agitated couple of pages whereon she made known her undying hatred of covers of the “Bluebell” description.The kindly agent soothed her in his next reply; she should not be in the “Bluebell Series,” he promised, and she should have the most artistic covers compatible with the fact that the book was for young readers. So she took heart again, and speedily forgot Vailima and the skies she might have seen, rough-edged parchment and everything in the world but the fact that flying forward, forward through the shouting seas was a ship, bearing in its breast that precious parcel of her very own writing, that London magic would turn into a book, a book, a book!
“Transportation for life was the sentence it gave,Andthento be fined forty pounds.”
“Transportation for life was the sentence it gave,Andthento be fined forty pounds.”
“Transportation for life was the sentence it gave,Andthento be fined forty pounds.”
“Transportation for life was the sentence it gave,
Andthento be fined forty pounds.”
Ted’schuckle over the inference Freddie left for Dolly to draw from his remark gave place suddenly to an indignant shout.
A boy with a large parcel had just entered the gate, and had actually had the temerity to approach the house in the way Dolly had done, regardless of flower-borders. At the moment of Ted’s shout he was setting a desecrating foot recklessly down upon the pansy-bed that was the pride of the house.
Ted disentangled himself from the wiles of Weenie, who had occupied herself by chaining him to a garden-seat with trails of wild clematis.
“I’ll knock the good-for-nothing little beggar’s head off,” he said, and took a tempestuous step in the direction of the impertinent lad.
But Phyl was before him. One great gasp and choking cry she gave, then she broke away from the[308]tea-ring,rushed madlyacross the grass and flower-beds, and to the incredulous astonishment of the family fell upon the boy and his parcel and began to hug him in a way marvellous to behold.
Up rose the family to investigate. And lo! it too found itself rushing madly over the well-ordered pansy and primrose retreats, and also falling upon the parcel-carrying youth and hugging him.
[Illustration]Rushed madly across the flower-beds.
Rushed madly across the flower-beds.
Freddie was the first to recover himself.
“I’ll be undoing the parcel, Alf,” he said, “I’d like just to have a look at my drum.”
[309]Then Alf laughed. He had been crying like a baby on his step-mother’s shoulder until now.
“That’s all the luggage I brought, the rest’s on the ship,” he said, and pulled the brown paper off his parcel.
“Chirrup, chirrup!” said the fat little yellow bird, and sang at the sweet sun that the dark paper had hidden away.
“Get some water, Weenie, and a bit of green; all the voyage I couldn’t get any green,” said Alf.
In through the gate came the doctor’s bicycle, and once again the pansies suffered from the wild impetuosity of humans. Nobody in the least believed their eyes, but each waited for the other to discredit the apparition.
“Oh, I know we’re dreaming,” said Dolly; “in a minute we’ll all wake up.”
“Oh, will we!” said Weenie contentedly. There had been no standing-room for her in the general rush, and she had fallen on the grass, and was still sitting there embracing the wanderer’s legs.
“If we do wake up,” said Alf, and there was a note of almost hysterical gladness in his voice, “I’ll take a dose of your prussic acid, father.”
The father’s arm was round his little son’s shoulder; he knew that nothing—no gold or promise of fame—could ever make him willingly let the lad go again.
“You shall stop at home now,—there, old fellow,[310]you shall never go back again,” he said from time to time, and little Alf continued to blubber happily.
“Just don’t ask me anything yet,” he said in a low tone to his father; “just be as if I’ve only come in from school, will you?”
And Dr. Wise, recognizing the state of tension the lad was in, forbade a single question being put to him.
But after dinner—there was Queen’s pudding, and the pyramid of icing did not go to Freddie—he pulled himself together and told his story.
After he had written that last of his letters to his family and told of his aunt’s sudden death, a strange thing had happened. He found at the bottom of the bird-seed tin, which she had delivered into his hands with so many injunctions, a sealed note.
“Here it is,” he said, and with a blurring of eyes took out gently from his waistcoat pocket the short letter written in the stiff, would-be German hand that had become part of herself.
The family read it silently, one after the other.
“Little Boy,”it said—“When I feel ill as I do to-night my eyes grow clear-sighted. This is no place for you, here with a soured old man and a sourer old maid; you would have grown to far healthier manhood across the sea in that merry family that I have never let you talk about just as much as you wanted. But is it[311]too late? I think you know the way back. I was not blind to the looks you cast at Hamburg and Bremen on the boats that happened to have Sydney for their destination. Suppose you break away from us and make your way back to them all, little Alf? There are times in the lives of many of us when breaking away from a life that stifles the good in us is a necessary as well as a brave thing to do. I was too weak always and have stayed here warping all my life.“I am putting four ten-pound notes with this; they will carry you across the water again if you have the courage to fling the big fortune you would have had to the winds. You have no ties here; grandfather is too old and lives too much to himself to care for you; I would far rather spare you than keep you and watch you grow hard and money-fond like us.“Think of it, little Alf; your mother, my own sister that I played dolls with, makes no softening feeling in me at all now when I think of her. I made myself feel hard to her, years ago, and now when I should like to change and would give the world to feel a natural gush of love for her, I can wake no emotion at all; that is my punishment, for the heart will not be trifled with.“But you, warm from the hearts of all those sisters and brothers—oh, go back to them and be poor and happy, and grow up in the healthy atmosphere of[312]‘give and take’ instead of our most wretched one of ‘keep.’“Little Alf, who has been the kindest, tenderest, most patient laddie all these months, spare sometimes a loving thought to“Your Aunt Helene.”
“Little Boy,”it said—
“When I feel ill as I do to-night my eyes grow clear-sighted. This is no place for you, here with a soured old man and a sourer old maid; you would have grown to far healthier manhood across the sea in that merry family that I have never let you talk about just as much as you wanted. But is it[311]too late? I think you know the way back. I was not blind to the looks you cast at Hamburg and Bremen on the boats that happened to have Sydney for their destination. Suppose you break away from us and make your way back to them all, little Alf? There are times in the lives of many of us when breaking away from a life that stifles the good in us is a necessary as well as a brave thing to do. I was too weak always and have stayed here warping all my life.
“I am putting four ten-pound notes with this; they will carry you across the water again if you have the courage to fling the big fortune you would have had to the winds. You have no ties here; grandfather is too old and lives too much to himself to care for you; I would far rather spare you than keep you and watch you grow hard and money-fond like us.
“Think of it, little Alf; your mother, my own sister that I played dolls with, makes no softening feeling in me at all now when I think of her. I made myself feel hard to her, years ago, and now when I should like to change and would give the world to feel a natural gush of love for her, I can wake no emotion at all; that is my punishment, for the heart will not be trifled with.
“But you, warm from the hearts of all those sisters and brothers—oh, go back to them and be poor and happy, and grow up in the healthy atmosphere of[312]‘give and take’ instead of our most wretched one of ‘keep.’
“Little Alf, who has been the kindest, tenderest, most patient laddie all these months, spare sometimes a loving thought to
“Your Aunt Helene.”
“But I wasn’t what she says at the end,” Alf said in a choking voice; “I’ve been a beast to her,—think how I used to make fun of her in my letters!”
But they who knew warm-hearted little Alf knew without telling just in what way he had been a comfort to the lonely, mistaken woman.
“Pater,” the boy said wistfully when the general conversation was loud, and the doctor so near he could hear a whisper, “I won’t be very much expense,—are you very vexed with me for chucking the money? I came back steerage, so I’ve got twenty-two pounds left out of the forty. That’ll pay for my food for a long time.”
But the doctor, who had always been rather an impetuous, improvident man, blew his nose as loudly as Herr Ollendorf was wont to do, andsaid—
“Hang the expense!” with great vigour. “Thank heaven, I’ve got you again, old lad,” he added; “your punishment is, you’ll stop here now, and be poor with the rest of us.”
A week later came a German letter. It was from the grandfather’s solicitors, and bore strange news. Alf was[313]his aunt’s heir. Everything she had she had left to him unconditionally. Not a very vast inheritance, it is true, for the poor little woman’s mania for beautiful clothes had greatly crippled a once handsome income. Still, three hundred a year would do many things, and at least keep away the terrible necessity of Alf being compelled to teach German for a living.
The letter went on to state the fact of the boy’s disappearance; inquiries had been made, and it seemed reasonable to conclude he had run away from his grandfather’s care, and sailed for Australia by theBarbarossa. “If this proved to be the case,” said the solicitors, “and if the boy had returned, or in process of time did return to his father, then his grandfather washed his hands of him for all time.”
The young reprobate leaned back when the reading of the letter reached this point, and sighed relievedly.
“That’s something to be thankful for,” he said; “every night I’ve dreamt he’d sent to get me back.”
“I’m afraid it’s a stony-hearted laddie,” Mrs. Wise said. “I don’t at all like to picture to myself that lonely old man.”
“But he never cared a dump for me—you ask him; why, he nearly used to get a fit sometimes if I came near him; he said I fidgeted so,” Alf said excitedly.
“He’s precious glad I cleared, I’ll bet; he only wanted some one to leave his rubbishy money to; the little mummies can have it, and welcome.”
“The who?” said the doctor.
[314]“Oh, those kids in Egypt,” said Alfred.
Dolly was in the corner reading the “further” letter from her publisher-elect, and surely there was a smile wrapped up with the kindly note.
“Hello, Dolly looks as if she couldn’t help it,” said Richie, the speaker of slang.
“O-o-oh!” said Dolly ruefully, “neither I can.”
Down had come many of her card-castles; flat on the earth they lay. The publisher would give her a royalty, and a fair one, on every copy,but—
“I cannot entertain paying you such a sum for copyright,” he wrote; “you are entirely unknown as a juvenile writer, and your tale is very short. I can only offer you fifteen pounds for that; but should the book succeed as I expect, the royalties will total up no inconsiderable sum each year.”
“Fifteen pounds!” repeated Dolly in a disappointed tone. Last night she and Phyl had lain awake spending the two hundred pounds in most magnificent fashion; a trip to Stevenson’s Samoa for their mother, themselves, and Alf, being the choicest item on the list.
“Never mind,” said Freddie kindly, “I can do without the cricket things now, Dolly—Alf’ll get them for me; won’t you, Alf?” and he fondled his millionaire brother’s hand with the most respectful affection.
Dolly’s eyes went skimming along over the page to the agent’s disquisition on “Covers.” Russian leather and white parchment with rough edges were[315]impossible, it seemed. Mr. Ledman wrote at length, and with eloquence, of the beauties of gilt edges, and the chaste and elegant appearance of some appropriate floral emblem on a bright red, blue, or green ground. He said he proposed to include it in the well-known “Bluebell Series,” of which they had sold one million copies.
But Dolly was not entirely vanquished. She had carried with her for three long days the dear vision of sage-green Russian leather, severely plain and artistic, and the crude colouring of her shelf of “Bluebell Series” made her shudder. The voyage to the Happy Isles she relinquished with a sigh, and wrote that she accepted the offer of fifteen pounds and a royalty. But she added a most agitated couple of pages whereon she made known her undying hatred of covers of the “Bluebell” description.
The kindly agent soothed her in his next reply; she should not be in the “Bluebell Series,” he promised, and she should have the most artistic covers compatible with the fact that the book was for young readers. So she took heart again, and speedily forgot Vailima and the skies she might have seen, rough-edged parchment and everything in the world but the fact that flying forward, forward through the shouting seas was a ship, bearing in its breast that precious parcel of her very own writing, that London magic would turn into a book, a book, a book!
[316]Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E.,AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
[316]Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E.,AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
[A1]Works by Ethel Turner(MRS. H. R. CURLEWIS).Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, bevelled boards, gilt edges,3s. 6d.THE STOLEN VOYAGE.Illustrated byJ. Macfarlaneand others.“The book is prettily bound and profusely illustrated, and although it is primarily intended for the young, one may safely say that when its lucky boy or girl owner has to shut it up and trot off to bed, there will be an older member of the family thankful for the opportunity of getting a bit more read.”—The Schoolmaster.IN THE MIST OF THE MOUNTAINS.“A story that will at once appeal to both boys and girls by reason of its natural setting and its captivating dialogue. It is without doubt one of the best of the season’s gift books.”—The Teacher’s Aid.THE WHITE ROOF-TREE.Illustrations byA. J. Johnson.“It is a charming picture of young life, painted as the authoress knows how to depict it. She has a fresh and tender touch indeed, which has singled her out as the happy successor of Miss Alcott, and won for her the golden opinions of her juvenile readers.”—The Leicester Post.MOTHER’S LITTLE GIRL.Illustrations byA. J. Johnson.“A beautiful story. . . . One that draws out all the author’s wonderful capacities for direct and naturally emotional and sentimental writing. The grown-ups, the little folks and their every-day experiences are portrayed and described with a realism that brings them very near to the reader, affecting the feelings and impressing the memory.”—The Dundee Advertiser.BETTY & CO.Illustrated.“Miss Ethel Turner has lost none of her freshness, her tenderness, her charm, after so many years writing. . . . She comes very near genius in depicting child-life, and she is Australian to the core.”—The Queen.LITTLE MOTHER MEG.With Twenty-five Illustrations byA. J. Johnson.This book is another of the Author’s delightful stories of child life, full of the same charms which brought into popularity her earlier stories; this new story is bound to enhance her reputation as one who can picture child life in all its natural innocence.THE STORY OF A BABY.Illustrated byFrances Ewanand others.“A pretty and graceful little narrative.”—Daily Telegraph.“A charming sketch of a girl-wife and the pitfalls of early married life.”—Liverpool Mercury.[A2]THE RAFT IN THE BUSH.With Sixteen Illustrations byH. C. SandyandD. H. Souter.SEVEN LITTLE AUSTRALIANS.With Twenty-six Illustrations byA. J. Johnson.“The pictures of their characters and careers seem taken from the life, and there is a novelty in some of the surroundings of the household which makes the volume eminently readable. . . . There are not wanting passages of true pathos, and some vividly picturesque descriptions of Australian scenery.”—Daily Telegraph.THE FAMILY AT MISRULE.A Sequel to the above.With Twenty-nine Illustrations byA. J. Johnson.“Delightful young people they are, with all their mistakes and innocent naughtiness, yet so bright and natural they cannot fail to charm.”—Graphic.“All who were delighted with ‘Seven Little Australians’—as all were who read the charming story—will welcome ‘The Family at Misrule.’ . . . The story is charmingly written.”—Leeds Mercury.THREE LITTLE MAIDS.Illustrated byA. J. Johnson.“A tale of absorbing interest. The book all through is written in a vein that will afford genuine delight to those into whose hands it may fall.”—Morning Advertiser.“A capital story, told with vivacity, point and humour. Admirably calculated to interest young people.”—Publishers’ Circular.THE CAMP AT WANDINONG.Illustrated byFrances Ewanand others.“Ethel Turner has given us in ‘The Camp at Wandinong’ such an insight into the thoughts and nature of childhood as is nothing short of marvellous. It is no exaggeration to say that in our experience no truer representations of child life have ever been brought before the public. Mrs. Curlewis’s pathos is of that simple and intimate description that will find its way straight to the hearts of her readers.”—Ladies’ Field.MISS BOBBIE.Illustrated byHarold Copping.“Simply delightful. . . . In its humour and its penetrating insight it is quite a masterpiece, comparable only with Miss Alcott’s ‘Little Men.’”—Daily Mail.“In every way a delightful book. It is one of those simple histories of everyday life that children of all ages like to read, full of fast and furious fun.”—British Weekly.THE LITTLE LARRIKIN.Illustrated byA. J. Johnson.“This is a most delightful, pathetic, and humorous—yet neither too pathetic nor too humorous—story.”—Speaker.“So brightly written, and so full of delicate touches of both humour and pathos.”—Pall Mall Gazette.“An exceedingly clever and amusing story.”—St. James’s Gazette.London: WARD,LOCK & CO.,LIMITED.[A3]The ROYAL SERIESLarge Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt, each with Frontispiece.1s.An important new series, which will aim at including all the Classic Gift Books. Printed from new type on good paper, and attractively bound, with gilt side and back. It is believed the series will surpass anything ever offered to the public at the price.1ROBINSON CRUSOEDaniel Defoe2THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESSJohn Bunyan3THE HOLY WARJohn Bunyan4UNCLE TOM’S CABINMrs. H. B. Stowe5GRIMMS’ FAIRY TALESBros. Grimm6GRIMMS’ FAIRY STORIESBros. Grimm7ANDERSEN’S POPULAR TALESHans Christian Andersen8ANDERSEN’S FAIRY STORIESHans Christian Andersen9FROM LOG CABIN TO WHITE HOUSEW. M. Thayer10THE WIDE, WIDE WORLDE. Wetherell11MELBOURNE HOUSEE. Wetherell12DAISYE. Wetherell13DAISY IN THE FIELDE. Wetherell14LITTLE WOMENL. M. Alcott15GOOD WIVESL. M. Alcott16THE PRINCE OF THE HOUSE OF DAVIDJ. H. Ingraham17BEULAHA. J. Evans Wilson18ST. ELMOA. J. Evans Wilson19THAT LASS O’LOWRIE’SMrs. F. H. Burnett20DANESBURY HOUSEMrs. Henry Wood21MINISTERING CHILDRENMrs. Charlesworth22BEN-HURLew Wallace23JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMANMrs. Craik24THE HEROESCharles Kingsley25A WONDER BOOKNathaniel Hawthorne26THE CORAL ISLANDR. M. Ballantyne27MARTIN RATTLERR. M. Ballantyne28THE WORLD OF ICER. M. Ballantyne29PETER THE WHALERW. H. G. Kingston30TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYSThomas Hughes33FEATS ON THE FIORDH. Martineau[A4]34THE BASKET OF FLOWERSG. T. Bedell35THE GORILLA HUNTERSR. M. Ballantyne36TALES FROM SHAKESPEAREChas. and M. Lamb37STEPPING HEAVENWARDE. Prentiss39THE MILL ON THE FLOSSGeorge Eliot40OLD JACKW. H. G. Kingston41WHAT KATY DID AT HOMESusan Coolidge42WHAT KATY DID AT SCHOOLSusan Coolidge43THE LAMPLIGHTERMissCummins44UNGAVAR. M. Ballantyne45THE YOUNG FUR TRADERSR. M. Ballantyne46WESTWARD HO!Charles Kingsley47THE DAYS OF BRUCEGrace Aguilar49THE DOG CRUSOER. M. Ballantyne50THE RED ERICR. M. Ballantyne51TITUSF. M. Kingsley53THE THRONE OF DAVIDRev. J. H. Ingraham54HELEN’S BABIESJohn Habberton55OTHER PEOPLE’S CHILDRENJohn Habberton56THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELDOliver Goldsmith57AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUSA. J. Evans Wilson58THE OLD HELMETE. Wetherell59THE PILLAR OF FIREJ. H. Ingraham60HOLIDAY HOUSECatherine Sinclair61THE WATER-BABIESCharles Kingsley62AGATHA’S HUSBANDMrs. Craik63QUEECHYE. Wetherell64SANDFORD AND MERTON65EVENINGS AT HOME66ARABIAN NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENTS67ANDERSEN’S STORIES FOR THE YOUNG68ANDERSEN’S FAVOURITE TALES69THE SCOTTISH CHIEFSJane Porter70INFELICEA. J. Evans Wilson71VASHTIA. J. Evans Wilson72MACARIAA. J. Evans Wilson73INEZA. J. Evans Wilson74THE FLOWER OF THE FAMILYE. Prentiss75MABEL VAUGHANMiss Cummins77SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON78WILLIS, THE PILOTSequel to “Swiss Family Robinson”79NAOMIJ. B. Webb80AESOP’S FABLES81ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLANDLewis Carroll
(MRS. H. R. CURLEWIS).
Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, bevelled boards, gilt edges,3s. 6d.
Illustrated byJ. Macfarlaneand others.
“The book is prettily bound and profusely illustrated, and although it is primarily intended for the young, one may safely say that when its lucky boy or girl owner has to shut it up and trot off to bed, there will be an older member of the family thankful for the opportunity of getting a bit more read.”—The Schoolmaster.
“A story that will at once appeal to both boys and girls by reason of its natural setting and its captivating dialogue. It is without doubt one of the best of the season’s gift books.”—The Teacher’s Aid.
Illustrations byA. J. Johnson.
“It is a charming picture of young life, painted as the authoress knows how to depict it. She has a fresh and tender touch indeed, which has singled her out as the happy successor of Miss Alcott, and won for her the golden opinions of her juvenile readers.”—The Leicester Post.
Illustrations byA. J. Johnson.
“A beautiful story. . . . One that draws out all the author’s wonderful capacities for direct and naturally emotional and sentimental writing. The grown-ups, the little folks and their every-day experiences are portrayed and described with a realism that brings them very near to the reader, affecting the feelings and impressing the memory.”—The Dundee Advertiser.
Illustrated.
“Miss Ethel Turner has lost none of her freshness, her tenderness, her charm, after so many years writing. . . . She comes very near genius in depicting child-life, and she is Australian to the core.”—The Queen.
With Twenty-five Illustrations byA. J. Johnson.
This book is another of the Author’s delightful stories of child life, full of the same charms which brought into popularity her earlier stories; this new story is bound to enhance her reputation as one who can picture child life in all its natural innocence.
Illustrated byFrances Ewanand others.
“A pretty and graceful little narrative.”—Daily Telegraph.
“A charming sketch of a girl-wife and the pitfalls of early married life.”—Liverpool Mercury.
With Sixteen Illustrations byH. C. SandyandD. H. Souter.
With Twenty-six Illustrations byA. J. Johnson.
“The pictures of their characters and careers seem taken from the life, and there is a novelty in some of the surroundings of the household which makes the volume eminently readable. . . . There are not wanting passages of true pathos, and some vividly picturesque descriptions of Australian scenery.”—Daily Telegraph.
With Twenty-nine Illustrations byA. J. Johnson.
“Delightful young people they are, with all their mistakes and innocent naughtiness, yet so bright and natural they cannot fail to charm.”—Graphic.
“All who were delighted with ‘Seven Little Australians’—as all were who read the charming story—will welcome ‘The Family at Misrule.’ . . . The story is charmingly written.”—Leeds Mercury.
Illustrated byA. J. Johnson.
“A tale of absorbing interest. The book all through is written in a vein that will afford genuine delight to those into whose hands it may fall.”—Morning Advertiser.
“A capital story, told with vivacity, point and humour. Admirably calculated to interest young people.”—Publishers’ Circular.
Illustrated byFrances Ewanand others.
“Ethel Turner has given us in ‘The Camp at Wandinong’ such an insight into the thoughts and nature of childhood as is nothing short of marvellous. It is no exaggeration to say that in our experience no truer representations of child life have ever been brought before the public. Mrs. Curlewis’s pathos is of that simple and intimate description that will find its way straight to the hearts of her readers.”—Ladies’ Field.
Illustrated byHarold Copping.
“Simply delightful. . . . In its humour and its penetrating insight it is quite a masterpiece, comparable only with Miss Alcott’s ‘Little Men.’”—Daily Mail.
“In every way a delightful book. It is one of those simple histories of everyday life that children of all ages like to read, full of fast and furious fun.”—British Weekly.
Illustrated byA. J. Johnson.
“This is a most delightful, pathetic, and humorous—yet neither too pathetic nor too humorous—story.”—Speaker.
“So brightly written, and so full of delicate touches of both humour and pathos.”—Pall Mall Gazette.
“An exceedingly clever and amusing story.”—St. James’s Gazette.
London: WARD,LOCK & CO.,LIMITED.
Large Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt, each with Frontispiece.1s.
An important new series, which will aim at including all the Classic Gift Books. Printed from new type on good paper, and attractively bound, with gilt side and back. It is believed the series will surpass anything ever offered to the public at the price.
Transcriber’s noteInconsistent hyphenation has been retained: bedtime/bed-time, bookcase/book-case, child-life/child life, currant-bushes/currant bushes, drawing-room/drawing room, eiderdown/eider-down, everyday/every-day, forever/for ever, heartbroken/heart-broken, hearthrug/hearth-rug, nightgown/night-gown, nightgowns/night-gowns, someone/some one, washstand/wash-stand, washing-day/washing day.The following words have been retained as printed: woful, wofully.Occasional inconsistencies in character names (Phyl/Phil, Phyllida/Phyllis, Clif/Cliff) have been regularised.
Inconsistent hyphenation has been retained: bedtime/bed-time, bookcase/book-case, child-life/child life, currant-bushes/currant bushes, drawing-room/drawing room, eiderdown/eider-down, everyday/every-day, forever/for ever, heartbroken/heart-broken, hearthrug/hearth-rug, nightgown/night-gown, nightgowns/night-gowns, someone/some one, washstand/wash-stand, washing-day/washing day.
The following words have been retained as printed: woful, wofully.
Occasional inconsistencies in character names (Phyl/Phil, Phyllida/Phyllis, Clif/Cliff) have been regularised.