BIRDS FROM A CITY ROOF I laid down my book and listened. It was only the choking gurgle of a broken rain-pipe outside: then it was the ripple and swish of a meadow stream. To make out the voices of redwings and marsh-wrens in the rasping notes of the city sparrows behind the shutter required much more imagination. But I did it. I wanted to hear, and the splash of the water helped me. The sounds of wind and water are the same everywhere.... more...

THE CANAL. It happened one summer, when Rollo was between seven and eight years of age, that there was a vacation at the school which he was attending at that time. The vacation commenced in the latter part of August, and was to continue for four or five weeks. Rollo had studied pretty hard at school, and he complained that his eyes ached sometimes. The day before the vacation commenced, his father became somewhat uneasy about his eyes; and so... more...

Ethics is the science of conduct, and the art of life. Life consists in the maintenance of relations; it requires continual adjustment; it implies external objects, as well as internal forces. Conduct must have materials to work with; stuff to build character out of; resistance to overcome; objects to confront. These objects nature has abundantly provided. They are countless as the sands of the seashore, or the stars of heaven. In order to... more...

CHAPTER I PHIL THE FIDDLER "Viva Garibaldi!" sang a young Italian boy in an uptown street, accompanying himself on a violin which, from its battered appearance, seemed to have met with hard usage. As the young singer is to be the hero of my story, I will pause to describe him. He was twelve years old, but small of his age. His complexion was a brilliant olive, with the dark eyes peculiar to his race, and his hair black. In spite of the dirt,... more...

CHAPTER I A BOY AND HIS DOG Penrod sat morosely upon the back fence and gazed with envy at Duke, his wistful dog. A bitter soul dominated the various curved and angular surfaces known by a careless world as the face of Penrod Schofield. Except in solitude, that face was almost always cryptic and emotionless; for Penrod had come into his twelfth year wearing an expression carefully trained to be inscrutable. Since the world was sure to... more...

Chapter I. We emulate the Rollo books. 'Sure a terrible time I was out o' the way,Over the sea, over the sea,Till I come to Ireland one sunny day,—Betther for me, betther for me:The first time me fut got the feel o' the groundI was strollin' along in an Irish cityThat hasn't its aquil the world aroundFor the air that is sweet an' the girls that are pretty.'—Moira O'Neill. Dublin, O'Carolan's Private Hotel. It is the most absurd... more...

Chapter I. A Triangular Alliance. 'Edina, Scotia's Darling seat!All hail thy palaces and towers!' Edinburgh, April 189-. 22 Breadalbane Terrace. We have travelled together before, Salemina, Francesca, and I, and we know the very worst there is to know about one another. After this point has been reached, it is as if a triangular marriage had taken place, and, with the honeymoon comfortably over, we slip along in thoroughly friendly fashion. I... more...

CHAPTER I PAUL THE PEDDLER "Here's your prize packages! Only five cents! Money prize in every package! Walk up, gentlemen, and try your luck!" The speaker, a boy of fourteen, stood in front of the shabby brick building, on Nassau street, which has served for many years as the New York post office. In front of him, as he stood with his back to the building, was a small basket, filled with ordinary letter envelopes, each labeled "Prize Package."... more...

PREFACE. "Mary's Meadow" first appeared in the numbers of Aunt Judy's Magazine from November 1883 to March 1884. It was the last serial story which Mrs. Ewing wrote, and I believe the subject of it arose from the fact that in 1883, after having spent several years in moving from place to place, she went to live at Villa Ponente, Taunton, where she had a settled home with a garden, and was able to revert to the practical cultivation of flowers,... more...

CHAPTER I. I LEAVE HOME I was born at Oulton, in Suffolk, in the year 1672. I know not the day of my birth, but it was in March, a day or two after the Dutch war began. I know this, because my father, who was the clergyman at Oulton, once told me that in the night of my birth a horseman called upon him, at the rectory, to ask the way to Lowestoft. He was riding from London with letters for the Admiral, he said; but had missed his way somewhere... more...