Grace Livingston Hill

A picture of ideal girlhood set in the time of full skirts and poke bonnets. A romance of a simple life, yet thrilling with heart experiences, touched with humor, shadowed by tragedy--but through it all Marcia wins her sweet way in spite of maiden-aunts and jealous rivals. Notice: This Book is published by Historical Books Limited (www.publicdomain.org.uk) as a Public Domain Book, if you have any inquiries, requests or need any help you can just send an email to [email protected] This book is found as a public domain and free book based on various online catalogs, if you think there are any problems regard copyright issues please contact us immediately via [email protected]

The Following of the Star By Florence L. Barclay

Excerpt: ...when the grass was about it. His heart sank. "I don't know as we can ever do anything with the old shack," he said, shaking his head wistfully. "It looks worse than I thought." "'Tain't so bad," said Sam cheerfully. "Guess it's watertight." He placed a speculative eye at the dusty window pane he had wiped off with his coat sleeve. "Looks dry inside. 'Twould be a heap better'n sleepin' on de pavement fer some. Dat dere fire hole would take in a big lot o' wood an' I guess dere's a plenty round de place without robbin' de woods none." Michael led him to the seashore and bade him look. He wanted to see what effect it would have upon him. The coast swept wild and bleak in the cold December day, and Sam shivered in his thin garments. A look of awe and fear came into his face. He turned his back upon it. "Too big " he said sullenly, and Michael understood that the sea in its vastness oppressed him. "Yes, there's a good deal of it," he admitted, "but after all it's sort of like the geranium flower." Sam turned back and looked. "H'm I don't see nothin' like " he grunted despairingly. "Why, it's wonderful Its beyond us We couldn't make it. Look at that motion See the white tossing rim of the waves See that soft green gray Isn't it just the color of the little down on the geranium leaf? See the silver light playing back and forth, and look how it reaches as far as you can see. Now, doesn't it make you feel a little as it did when you first looked at the geranium?" Michael looked down at Sam from his greater height almost wistfully. He wanted him to understand, but Sam looked in vain. "Not fer mine " he shrugged. "Gimme the posy every time." They walked in silence along the beach toward the flowing of the river, and Sam eyed the ocean furtively as if he feared it might run up and engulf them suddenly when they were not looking. He had seen the ocean from wharfs of course; and once stole a ride in a pilot boat out into the deep a little way; but he had...

A Voice in the Wilderness By Grace Livingston Hill

The Enchanted Barn By Grace Livingston Hill

The pent black smoke from the tunnel rolled in a thick cloud about them, stifling them. The girl, dazed with the roar and blinded by the smoke, could only cling to her protector. For an instant they felt as if they were about to be drawn into the awful power of the rushing monster. Then it had passed, and a roar of silence followed, as if they were suddenly plunged into a vacuum. Gradually the noises of the world began again: the rumble of a trolley-car on the bridge; the "honk-honk" of an automobile; the cry of a newsboy. Slowly their breath and their senses came back. The man's first thought was to get out of the cut before another train should come. He grasped his companion's arm and started up the steep embankment, realizing as he did so that the wrist he held was slender, and that the sleeve which covered it was of the finest cloth. They struggled up, scarcely pausing for breath.

They had been kind in their rough way, those companions of her brother. They had stayed and done all that was necessary, had dug the grave, and stood about their comrade in good-natured grimness, marching in order about him to give the last look; but, when the sister tried to utter the prayer she knew her mother would have spoken, her throat refused to make a sound, and her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She had taken sudden refuge in the little shed that was her own room, and there had stayed till the rough companions had taken away the still form of the only one left in the family circle. In silence the funeral train wound its way to the spot where the others were buried. They respected her tearless grief, these great, passionate, uncontrolled young men. They held in the rude jokes with which they would have taken the awesomeness from the occasion for themselves, and for the most part kept the way silently and gravely, now and then looking back with admiration to the slim girl with the stony face and unblinking eyes who followed them mechanically. They had felt that some one ought to do something; but no one knew exactly what, and so they walked silently.

Grace Livingston Hill was an American writer during the early 20th century who wrote a prodigious amount of Christian-themed works and romances. Her work still remains popular and widely read today.