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That Lass O' Lowrie's - Chapter II - 'Liz' That Lass O' Lowrie's - Chapter II - "Liz"

That Lass O' Lowrie's - Chapter II - 'Liz'
CHAPTER II - "Liz""Th' owd lad's been at his tricks again," was the rough comment made on Joan Lowrie's appearance when she came down to her work the next morning; but Joan looked neither right nor left, and went to her place without a word. Not one among them had ever heard her speak of her miseries and wrongs, or had known her to do otherwise than ignore the fact that their existence was well known among her fellow-workers.When Derrick passed her on his way to his duties, she looked up from her task with a faint, quick color, and replied... Long Stories - Post by : andyjedell - Date : March 2012 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 1659

That Lass O' Lowrie's - Chapter I - A Difficult Case That Lass O' Lowrie's - Chapter I - A Difficult Case

That Lass O' Lowrie's - Chapter I - A Difficult Case
CHAPTER I - A Difficult CaseThey did not look like women, or at least a stranger new to the district might easily have been misled by their appearance, as they stood together in a group, by the pit's mouth. There were about a dozen of them there--all "pit-girls," as they were called; women who wore a dress more than half masculine, and who talked loudly and laughed discordantly, and some of whom, God knows, had faces as hard and brutal as the hardest of their collier brothers and husbands and sweethearts. They had lived among the coal-pits, and had worked early... Long Stories - Post by : tracey - Date : March 2012 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 2618

Mere Girauds Little Daughter Mere Girauds Little Daughter

Mere Girauds Little Daughter
"Prut!" said Annot, her sabots clattering loudly on the brick floor as she moved more rapidly in her wrath. "Prut! Madame Giraud, indeed! There was a time, and it was but two years ago, that she was but plain Mere Giraud, and no better than the rest of us; and it seems to me, neighbors, that it is not well to show pride because one has the luck to be favored by fortune. Where, forsooth, would our 'Madame' Giraud stand if luck had not given her a daughter pretty enough to win a rich husband?""True, indeed!" echoed two of the gossips... Short Stories - Post by : karims100 - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 588

'le Monsieur De La Petite Dame' "le Monsieur De La Petite Dame"

'le Monsieur De La Petite Dame'
It was Madame who first entered the box, and Madame was bright with youthful bloom, bright with jewels, and, moreover, a beauty. She was a little creature, with childishly large eyes, a low, white forehead, reddish-brown hair, and Greek nose and mouth."Clearly," remarked the old lady in the box opposite, "not a Frenchwoman. Her youth is too girlish, and she has too petulant an air of indifference."This old lady in the box opposite was that venerable and somewhat severe aristocrat, Madame de Castro, and having gazed for a moment or so a little disapprovingly at the new arrival, she turned her... Short Stories - Post by : mxthree - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 3402

The Little Hunchback Zia The Little Hunchback Zia

The Little Hunchback Zia
The little hunchback Zia toiled slowly up the steep road, keeping in the deepest shadows, even though the night had long fallen. Sometimes he staggered with weariness or struck his foot against a stone and smothered his involuntary cry of pain. He was so full of terror that he was afraid to utter a sound which might cause any traveler to glance toward him. This he feared more than any other thing--that some man or woman might look at him too closely. If such a one knew much and had keen eyes, he or she might in some way guess even... Short Stories - Post by : westbourne - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 1839

The Land Of The Blue Flower The Land Of The Blue Flower

The Land Of The Blue Flower
Part OneThe Land of the Blue Flower was not called by that name until the tall, strong, beautiful King Amor came down from his castle on the mountain crag and began to reign. Before that time it was called King Mordreth's Land, and as the first King Mordreth had been a fierce and cruel king this seemed a gloomy name.A few weeks before Amor was born, his weak, selfish boy-father--whose name was King Mordreth also--had been killed while hunting, and his fair mother with the clear eyes died when he was but a few hours old. But early in that day... Short Stories - Post by : mst207 - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 1390

Sara Crewe, Or What Happened At Miss Minchin's Sara Crewe, Or What Happened At Miss Minchin's

Sara Crewe, Or What Happened At Miss Minchin's
In the first place, Miss Minchin lived in London. Her home was a large, dull, tall one, in a large, dull square all the houses were alike, and all the sparrows were alike, and where all the door-knockers made the same heavy sound, and on still days--and nearly all the days were still--seemed to resound through the entire row in which the knock was knocked. On Miss Minchin's door there was a brass plate. On the brass plate there was inscribed in black letters,+----------------------------------------+|... Short Stories - Post by : bornagain - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 2025

Racketty-packetty House Racketty-packetty House

Racketty-packetty House
Now this is the story about the doll family I liked and the doll family I didn't. When you read it you are to remember something I am going to tell you. This is it: If you think dolls never do anything you don't see them do, you are very much mistaken. When people are not looking at them they can do anything they choose. They can dance and sing and play on the piano and have all sorts of fun. But they can only move about and talk when people turn their backs and are not looking. If any one... Short Stories - Post by : sblackburn - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 3333

One Day At Arle One Day At Arle

One Day At Arle
One day at Arle--a tiny scattered fishing hamlet on the northwestern English coast--there stood at the door of one of the cottages near the shore a woman leaning against the lintel-post and looking out: a woman who would have been apt to attract a stranger's eye, too--a woman young and handsome. This was what a first glance would have taken in; a second would have been apt to teach more and leave a less pleasant impression. She was young enough to have been girlish, but she was not girlish in the least. Her tall, lithe, well-knit figure was braced against the... Short Stories - Post by : Tortuga505 - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 636

My Robin My Robin

My Robin
There came to me among the letters I received last spring one which touched me very closely. It was a letter full of delightful things but the delightful thing which so reached my soul was a question. The writer had been reading "The Secret Garden" and her question was this: "Did you own the original of the robin? He could not have been a mere creature of fantasy. I feel sure you owned him." I was thrilled to the centre of my being. Here was some one who plainly had been intimate with robins-- English robins. I wrote and explained as... Short Stories - Post by : Zaahn - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 1409

Lodusky Lodusky

Lodusky
They were rather an incongruous element amid the festivities, but they bore themselves very well, notwithstanding, and seemed to be sufficiently interested. The elder of the two--a tall, slender, middle-aged woman, with a somewhat severe, though delicate face--sat quietly apart, looking on at the rough dances and games with a keen relish of their primitive uncouthness; but the younger, a slight, alert creature, moved here and there, her large, changeable eyes looking larger through their glow of excitement."Thet gal thar," drawled a tall mountaineer who supported himself against the chimney and spat with placid regularity into the fire. "They tell me... Short Stories - Post by : coachlois - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 2171

In The Closed Room In The Closed Room

In The Closed Room
PART ONEIn the fierce airless heat of the small square room the child Judith panted as she lay on her bed. Her father and mother slept near her, drowned in the heavy slumber of workers after their day's labour. Some people in the next flat were quarrelling, irritated probably by the appalling heat and their miserable helplessness against it. All the hot emanations of the sun-baked city streets seemed to combine with their clamour and unrest, and rise to the flat in which the child lay gazing at the darkness. It was situated but a few feet from the track of... Short Stories - Post by : John_Pawlett - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 2806

'seth' "seth"

'seth'
He came in one evening at sun set with the empty coal-train--his dull young face pale and heavy-eyed with weariness, his corduroy suit dusty and travel-stained, his worldly possessions tied up in the smallest of handkerchief bundles and slung upon the stick resting on his shoulder--and naturally his first appearance attracted some attention among the loungers about the shed dignified by the title of "depot." I say "naturally," because arrivals upon the trains to Black Creek were so scarce as to be regarded as curiosities; which again might be said to be natural. The line to the mines had been in... Short Stories - Post by : KristinNichole - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 1351

Esmeralda Esmeralda

Esmeralda
To begin, I am a Frenchman, a teacher of languages, and a poor man,--necessarily a poor man, as the great world would say, or I should not be a teacher of languages, and my wife a copyist of great pictures, selling her copies at small prices. In our own eyes, it is true, we are not so poor--my Clelie and I. Looking back upon our past we congratulate ourselves upon our prosperous condition. There was a time when we were poorer than we are now, and were not together, and were, moreover, in London instead of in Paris. These were indeed... Short Stories - Post by : carlosjay - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 2467

Behind The White Brick Behind The White Brick

Behind The White Brick
It began with Aunt Hetty's being out of temper, which, it must be confessed, was nothing new. At its best, Aunt Hetty's temper was none of the most charming, and this morning it was at its worst. She had awakened to the consciousness of having a hard day's work before her, and she had awakened late, and so everything had gone wrong from the first. There was a sharp ring in her voice when she came to Jem's bedroom door and called out, "Jemima, get up this minute!"Jem knew what to expect when Aunt Hetty began a day by calling her... Short Stories - Post by : sullc - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 2563

The Proud Little Grain Of Wheat The Proud Little Grain Of Wheat

The Proud Little Grain Of Wheat
There once was a little grain of wheat which was very proud indeed. The first thing it remembered was being very much crowded and jostled by a great many other grains of wheat, all living in the same sack in the granary. It was quite dark in the sack, and no one could move about, and so there was nothing to be done but to sit still and talk and think. The proud little grain of wheat talked a great deal, but did not think quite so much, while its next neighbour thought a great deal and only talked when it... Short Stories - Post by : Bestodds - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 3254

The Story Of Prince Fairyfoot The Story Of Prince Fairyfoot

The Story Of Prince Fairyfoot
PREFATORY NOTE"THE STORY OF PRINCE FAIRYFOOT" was originally intended to be the first of a series, under the general title of "Stories from the Lost Fairy-Book, Re-told by the Child Who Read Them," concerning which Mrs. Burnett relates:"When I was a child of six or seven, I had given to me a book of fairy-stories, of which I was very fond. Before it had been in my possession many months, it disappeared, and, though since then I have tried repeatedly, both in England and America, to find a copy of it, I have never been able to do so. I asked... Short Stories - Post by : dhouse - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 863

Little Saint Elizabeth Little Saint Elizabeth

Little Saint Elizabeth
She had not been brought up in America at all. She had been born in France, in a beautiful chateau, and she had been born heiress to a great fortune, but, nevertheless, just now she felt as if she was very poor, indeed. And yet her home was in one of the most splendid houses in New York. She had a lovely suite of apartments of her own, though she was only eleven years old. She had had her own carriage and a saddle horse, a train of masters, and governesses, and servants, and was regarded by all the children of... Short Stories - Post by : Pinky - Date : July 2010 - Author : Frances Hodgson Burnett - Read : 2781