It was a September morning, hazy with late summer, and now with all the years between. Mother was seeing me off at Dearborn Station in Chicago. We'd come in a taxicab because of my trunk. But Mother would ride back home on the El. There wasn't much more than a nickel in her purse, and only a sandwich for the train in mine. My ticket had pretty well cleaned us out.
The trunk, a small one, held every stitch of clothes I had and two or three things of Mother's that fit me. "Try not to grow too fast," she murmured. “But anyway, skirts are shorter this year."
Evan Ross backed into the corner of the den as he stared at his dog Trigger.
The tan cocker spaniel lowered his head and stared back at Evan with wet, brown eyes. The old dog's tail began to wag excitedly.
""Trigger " Evan cried angrily. "Did you eat Monster Blood again?”
The dog's tail began wagging faster. Trigger let out a low bark that rumbled like thunder.
Evan's back pressed against the dark-paneled den wall.
Trigger took a few heavy steps toward him, panting hard. His huge pink tongue, as big as a salami, hung out of his enormous mouth.
“Did you?” Evan demanded. "Did you eat more Monster Blood?”
The answer to Evan's question was obvious.
Trigger had been normal cocker spaniel size that morning. Now the dog stared down at Evan, as big as a pony.
Posy Bates was playing hide-and-seek with the bag lady. It was no ordinary game, either.
"It's in dead earnest,” she thought. 'Life or death, practically.'
She knew for a fact that the bag lady had been reported to the police by Mary Pye's mother.
‘As if it was a crime, being homeless!' Posy thought indignantly. ‘Anyway, she won't be much longer.'
Soon the big lady would have a roof over her head. Admittedly, it was the roof of an old henhouse, but none the worse for that. Posy meant to turn that hen-house into a palace – or thereabouts.
She had not yet broken the news to Daff, her mother, that a bag lady was coming to live in the garden.
Posy Bates was in her favourite hidey-hole, reading
'Posy!' came her mother's voice from below. ‘Where are you?
Posy carried on reading. She had just got to the part where three space invaders were about to land in a playground and take over a school. It was the kind of thing she wished would happen at her school
"Posy! Come along, I want you!
This time Posy did raise her head, just for a moment.
"Take no notice, Punch and Judy,' she said.
Punch and Judy did not reply, for the very good reason that they were both spiders, in a jam-jar.
IN MY YOUNGER and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.
Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,' he told me, just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.'
He didn't say any more, but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I'm inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought-frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.
"What will happen now?” I asked Mamma as we watched the plane take the teacher away.
“Maybe no more school.” Mamma twitched her shoulder a little to show she didn't care. Mamma never went to school much, just a few months here and there when her family wasn't trapping or out at spring muskrat camp. She said she hated school when she was little.
The little plane circled our village and then flew low over Andreson's store and waggled its wings at us. That was Sam White, the pilot, saying good-bye to us.
It was Sam White laughing, too. Sam thought nearly everything was funny.
It was here that he met Dr. Joseph Bell, whose handling of cases inspired him to formulate his own methods of detection. These were to prove a great success with the many detective novels that he was to write in the future.
When Doyle set up practice in Southsea, he thought of writing only as a subsidiary source of living. It was during the periods when he waited for his patients that he first began to write, and A Study in Scarlet was published in 1887. Micah Clarke followed, and finally established him as a writer. Several stories were written, one after the other, the greatest achievement being his creation of Sherlock Holmes. Holmes was to become one of the most popular fictional characters in the world, loved for his detective adventures. At one time Arthur Conan Doyle “killed” him in a story, but public protest forced him to bring Holmes back to life.
Doyle, however, continued with his medical practice, and served as a physician in the Boer War. This enhanced his reputation even further, and he was knighted for his services,
Once upon a time there lived a rich gentleman who had a lovely young daughter. As he grew old and frail, he knew that he would soon die and leave his golden-haired daughter alone in the world, so he resolved to marry again.
Unfortunately his choice fell upon a haughty and selfish woman who had two daughters of her own. Now both the daughters were ugly and selfish, and very jealous of their sweettempered and beautiful stepsister, So when the father died, they dressed her in rags and put her to work in the kitchen, where no one could see and admire her beauty.
Prince Michael lived long ago in the land of Hungary, in the east of Europe. His family's huge estate was out on the vast plains, where they gained their wealth from breeding and selling fine horses. At last the time came when Michael reached the age to get married.
“A wealthy young man like you should marry a noble lady,” said his mother. “A princess from the great city would be suitable. I will make enquiries.”
A few weeks later, Prince Michael's mother, the Grand Duchess Irma, said that there were two suitable princesses and two suitable great ladies living in the city of Golden Walls. She looked carefully at her son.
“You must have two new suits of clothes made and buy some jewellery as presents and call on the young ladies to see which of them you like best,” she said.
Prince Michael shook his head. “I don't think that is a good idea,” he said.
"If the young ladies know I am looking for a wife, they are sure to be on their best behaviour. I shall not see what they are really like at all. I will not go calling," continued the prince. “I will disguise myself as a poor boy and ask the servants and common folk how the princesses and great ladies behave to them.
It all started the afternoon I fell off my bike and knocked myself out.
I was having a bike race with Freddie in Bray Wood - I was right out in the lead too - when I hit something.
Freddie found me lying 'horribly still and charged off to get help.
The next thing I remember is trying to open my eyes, only they stung, because some dust had got into them. So everything was blurred. No-one was about, yet I sensed someone was nearby. Then I saw this figure a little way from me.
Once upon a time, in the village of Snettering on-Snoakes in the Kingdom of Biddle, a blacksmith's wife named Gussie gave birth to a baby girl. Gussie and her husband, Sam, named the baby Lorelei, and they loved her dearly.
Lorelei's smile was sweet and her laughter was music. But as an infant she smiled only four times.
Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To get her poor Dog a bone:
But when she got there,
The cupboard was bare,
And so the poor Dog had none.
She went to the Baker's
To buy him some bread:
When she came back,
The poor Dog was dead.
Based on the beloved Roald Dahl tale, this comedic and fantastical film follows young Charlie Bucket (Freddie Highmore) and his Grandpa Joe (David Kelly) as they join a small group of contest winners who get to tour the magical and mysterious factory of eccentric candy maker Willy Wonka (Johnny Depp). Aided by his diminutive Oompa Loompa workers (Deep Roy), Wonka has a hidden motivation for the tour, one that he will reveal only after the children in the group show their true colors
The girl performed a similar act, and so it went on. Each time, the message from the dead woman's ka got more inventive and the lamp burned lower. The last few children mumbled their messages in a hurried fashion, casting nervous glances at the flickering flame and the tunnel. Finally, it was Senu's turn. Reonet stared at him as he approached the shelf, a challenge in her eye.
Senu took a deep breath. While the others had been having their turns, he'd taken note of the acts that impressed most and rehearsed his own in his head. Now he raised his arms as Iny had done. But Red muttered in his ear, “Don't be so silly. You're not a performing priest! This lot know nothing. Wait here.” And vanished.
Senu let his arms drop to his sides, feeling rather foolish. “Well?” Reonet demanded, hands on hips, her black eyes flashing. “What does she say?"
As Senu licked his lips, wondering whether to wait for Red, more giggles rippled round the tomb. “Senu's too scared!”... “Let's go back before the lamp runs out.” ... “Let's go canoeing instead.”
“No,” Senu said. “Wait.”
Iny faked a yawn. “This is boring! I'm going home.” He left with his friends, muttering about stupid dares that made people miss lunch. The others stayed a bit longer, looking expectantly at Senu. But when the lamp spluttered, they made disappointed noises and hurried out, too. Only Reonet and a handful of the girls remained. Senu clenched his fists.
Here are our friends Peter and Jane, with their Mum and Dad.
Our friends are off to the sea in their car. They will be there soon.
They can see the sea now as they look down.
You'll never ever guess what! I'm so happy happy happy. I want to laugh, sing, shout, even have a little cry. I can't want to tell Magda and Nadine.
I go down to breakfast and sip coffe and nibble dry toast, my hand carefully displayed beside my plate.
Alas the day! What will become of me ?
Oh that I, Eggbert Noah Bacon, son of Sir Nicholas
Bacon, half-brother of Francis Bacon, should have come to this.
My name is Tracy Beaker.
I am 10 years 2 months old.
My birthday is on 8 may. It's not fair, because that dopey Peter Ingham has his birthday then too, so we just got the one cake between us.
Seems pretty bad, right? Well, his mom was in a punk rock band called "We Hate You." It's just too good to be true. I must have died and gone to heaven. "'But we didn't really hate people,' my mom insists whenever I ask her about it. 'We just pretended we did. To shock the audience.'" What audience? I actually can't believe it, it's the perfect mix of creative and stunningly unoriginal. So they live in Detriot, and Ignatius J. spends some time explaining Michigan's geography to explain where "up north" is. Oh, and they're camping up north.
Also in this stunningly fascinating rogues' gallery is Ignatius J.'s friend, John, nicknamed "Mole." He's a little nearsighted dork who loves history. He goes on over to Ignatius J.'s house in the beginning to show him a book about Fort Deckerdale, near where the group is staying. It says that all the soldiers at the fort mysteriously disappeared. Well, we know it wasn't ghosts, since M.D. Spencer's idea of ghostly behavior is turning up the thermostat.
My kinsman and myself returning to Calcutta from our Puja trip when we met the man in a train. From his dress and bearing we took him at first for an up-country Mahomedan, but we were puzzled as we heard him talk.
It seemed to Lief that they had been walking beside the river forever. Yet only one night and part of a day had passed since he, barda and Jasmine had left the City of the Rats in flames. The faint smell of smoke hung in the still air, though the city was now just a blur on the horizon at their backs.
The Bear scouts met with scout leader Jane about once a month. They usually met on merit badge business. That's what today's meeting was about.
"We've decided to try for the Good Government Merit Badge, Scout Leader,"
said Scout Brother.
Looking out of my bedroom window, counting my unblessings. Raining. A lot. It's like living fully dressed in a pond.
And I am the prisoner of whatsit.
I have to stay in my room pretending to have tummy lurgy so that Dad will not know I am an ......
I'm very tired of amelia jane, said the teddy bear. Very, very tired.
So am I, said the clockwork mouse.
She keeps running after me telling me not to do this and not to do that, and....'
