"My son," spoke a gentle voice from behind the low, moss-grown wall, "we must not mourn and weep for those taken from us, as if we had no hope."Face downwards upon the newly-made mound of earth lay a youth of some fifteen or sixteen summers. His slight frame was convulsed by the paroxysm of his grief; from time to time a strangled sob broke from his lips. The kindly-faced monk from the Priory hard by had been watching him for some time before he thus addressed him. Probably he now saw that the violence of the outburst was spent.The youth started upon hearing himself addressed, and as he sprang to his feet he revealed a singularly attractive face. The brow was broad and massive, indicating intellectual power. The blue eyes beneath the pencilled arch of the delicate eyebrows looked out upon the world with a singular directness and purity of expression. The features were finely cut, and there were strength and sweetness both in the curved, thoughtful lips, and in the square outline of the jaw. The fair hair clustered in curling luxuriance about his head, and fell in sunny waves to his shoulders. His hands were long and white, and looked rather as though they had wielded pen than weapon or tool of craftsman. Yet the lad's habit was that of one occupying a humble rank in life, and the shoes on his feet were worn and patched, as though by his own apprentice hands. Beside him lay a wallet and staff, upon which the glance of the monk rested questioningly. The youth appeared to note the glance, yet it was the words addressed to him that he answered."I think it is rather for myself I weep, my father. I know that they who die in faith rest in peace and are blessed. But for those who are left—left quite alone—the world is a hard place for them."Father Ambrose looked with kindly solicitude at the lad. He noted his pale face, his sunken eyes, the look of weary depression that seemed to weigh him down, and he asked gently,—"What ails thee, Leofric, my son?""Everything," answered the youth, with sudden passion in his tones. "I have lost everything in the world that I prized. My father is dead. I have no home. I have no fortune. All that we had is swallowed up in paying for such things as were needful for him while he lay ill. Even that which he saved for masses for his soul had to go at the last. See here, my father, I have but these few silver pieces left in all the world. Take them, and say one mass for him, and let me kneel at the door of the chapel the while. Then will I go forth into the wide world alone, and whether I live or die matters nothing. I have no one in the wide world who will know or care."But the monk gently put back the extended hand, and laid his own kindly upon the head of the youth."Keep thy money, my son. The mass shall be said—ay, and more than one—for the repose of thy father's soul. He was a good man and true, and I loved him well. That pious office I will willingly perform in memory of our friendship. But now, as to thyself. Whither goest thou, and what wilt thou do? I had thought that thou wouldst have come to me ere thou didst sally forth into the wide world alone."There was a faint accent of reproach in the monk's voice, and Leofric's sensitive face coloured instantly."Think it not ingratitude on my part, my father," he said quickly. "I was coming to say good-bye. But that seems now the only word left to me to speak in this world."CONTENTSTHE DIE CASTA RIVER JOURNEYOLD OXFORDTHE FIRST DAYTHE NEW LIFEA "MAD" PARLIAMENTTHE CONSTABLE'S CHILDRENSTORMY SCENESA STUDENTS' HOLIDAYTHE FAIR OF ST. FRIDESWYDETHE MAGICIAN'S TOWERWINTER DAYS WITHIN THE CASTLEKENILWORTH CASTLETHE GREAT EARLPRINCE EDWARDBACK AT OXFORDTHE BELL OF ST. MARTIN'STHE NEW CHANCELLORTHE CHANCELLOR'S AWARDTURBULENT TIMESKING AND STUDENTSIN ARMSON THE FIELD OF LEWESAFTER THE BATTLECHRISTMAS AT KENILWORTHPLOTSTHE CAPTIVE A CONQUERORTHE FATAL FIGHTLEOFRIC'S REWARDON THE STILL ISIS

The further trials and triumphs of the venturesome aeroplane lads are set forth in a particularly thrilling manner in the third volume of this series, The Aeroplane Boys on the Wing. The Aeroplane Boys is a series about boys learning to fly during the early days of flight. They are a fun read for younger readers and early teens. --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition. --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.

Blue Jackets - The Log of the Teaser is presented here in a high quality paperback edition. This popular classic work by George Manville Fenn is in the English language, and may not include graphics or images from the original edition. If you enjoy the works of George Manville Fenn then we highly recommend this publication for your book collection.

This collection of literature attempts to compile many of the classic, timeless works that have stood the test of time and offer them at a reduced, affordable price, in an attractive volume so that everyone can enjoy them.

THE PICTURE. H, Madge, just stay as you are; there—your head a little more turned this way." "But, Raymond, I can't possibly make the toast if I do." "Never mind the toast; I shan't be many minutes," said the boy who was painting in the window, while he mixed some colours in an excited, eager manner. "The fire is very hot. Mayn't I move just to one side?" "No; it is the way that the firelight is falling on your hair and cheek that I want. Please, Madge; five minutes." "Very well," and the patient little sister dropped the toasting-fork, and folded her hands in her lap, with the scorching blaze playing on her forehead and cheek, and sparkling in her deep brown eyes. The boy went on with rapid, bold strokes, while a smile played over his compressed lips as he glanced at Madge every few moments. "The very thing I have been watching for—that warm, delicious glow—that red light slanting over her face;—glorious!" and he shook back the hair from his forehead, and worked on unconscious of how the minutes flew by. "Raymond, it is very hot." "There—one moment more, please, Madge." One minute—two—three, fled by, and then Raymond threw down his brush and came over to his sister's side. "Poor little Madge," and he laid his hand coaxingly on her silky hair. "Perhaps you have made my fortune." This was some small consolation for having roasted her face, and she went to look at the picture. "I'm not as pretty as that, Raymond." "FACES IN THE FIRE." "Well, artists may idealize a little; may they not?" "Yes. What is this to be called?" "Faces in the Fire." "Shall you sell it?" "I shall try." THE COTTAGE IN THE COUNTRY. Raymond Leicester had not a prepossessing face; it was heavy, and to a casual observer, stupid. He had dark hazel eyes, shaded by an overhanging brow and rather sweeping eyelashes; a straight nose, and compressed lips, hiding a row of defective teeth; a high massive forehead and light hair, which was seldom smooth, but very straight. This he had a habit of tossing back with a jerk when he was excited; and sometimes the dull eyes flashed with a very bright sparkle in them when he caught an idea which pleased him,—for Raymond was an artist, not by profession, but because it was in his heart to paint, and he could not help himself. He was sixteen now, and Madge was twelve. Madge was the only thing in the world that he really cared for, except his pictures. Their mother was dead, Madge could hardly remember her; but Raymond always had an image before him of a tender, sorrowful woman, who used to hold him in her arms, and whisper to him, while the hot tears fell upon his baby cheeks,—"You will comfort me, my little son. You will take care of your mother and of baby Madge." And he remembered the cottage in the country where they had lived, the porch where the rose-tree grew, the orchard and the moss-grown well, the tall white lilies in the garden that stood like fairies guarding the house, and the pear-tree that was laden with fruit. He remembered how his mother had sat in that porch with him, reading stories to him out of the Bible, but often lifting her sad pale face and looking down the road as if watching for some one....

Leopold is delighted to publish this classic book as part of our extensive Classic Library collection. Many of the books in our collection have been out of print for decades, and therefore have not been accessible to the general public. The aim of our publishing program is to facilitate rapid access to this vast reservoir of literature, and our view is that this is a significant literary work, which deserves to be brought back into print after many decades. The contents of the vast majority of titles in the Classic Library have been scanned from the original works. To ensure a high quality product, each title has been meticulously hand curated by our staff. This means that we have checked every single page in every title, making it highly unlikely that any material imperfections – such as poor picture quality, blurred or missing text - remain. When our staff observed such imperfections in the original work, these have either been repaired, or the title has been excluded from the Leopold Classic Library catalogue. As part of our on-going commitment to delivering value to the reader, within the book we have also provided you with a link to a website, where you may download a digital version of this work for free. Our philosophy has been guided by a desire to provide the reader with a book that is as close as possible to ownership of the original work. We hope that you will enjoy this wonderful classic work, and that for you it becomes an enriching experience. If you would like to learn more about the Leopold Classic Library collection please visit our website at www.leopoldclassiclibrary.com

"Looks like war, fellows!" exclaimed Frank Sheldon, as, on a cold March morning he came briskly into the business house where he was employed, and slipped off his overcoat. "Oh, I don't know," responded Bart Raymond, Frank's special chum. "It's looked like war ever since the Lusitania was sunk, but we haven't got our fighting clothes on yet. The American eagle keeps on cooing like a dove."

Army Boys on the Firing Line - or, Holding Back the German Drive is presented here in a high quality paperback edition. This popular classic work by Homer Randall is in the English language, and may not include graphics or images from the original edition. If you enjoy the works of Homer Randall then we highly recommend this publication for your book collection.

Six Girls and the Tea Room By Marion Ames TaggartSix Girls and the Tea Room By Marion Ames Taggart

HardPress Classic Books Series

Frank V. Webster was one of the early 20th century's most prolific authors of kids adventure books and Westerns, but that was due in large part to the fact that Frank V. Webster was actually many authors. Using Webster's name as a pseudonym, the Stratemeyer Syndicate published a number of books tailor made for boys, and they are still popular today.

From the Newbery Award-winning author of THE WESTING GAME, more clever riddles and wordplay, clues to be found, and mysteries to be solved! Wanted: Assistant to a painter (and a secret sleuth) Dickory Dock has come to 12 Cobble Lane to take the job as painter's assistant to the artist Garson. The townhouse looks charming and quaint, but inside its redbrick walls lurk suspicious characters, multiple mysteries, and one very eccentric portrait artist. Clues abound; and suddenly Dickory finds herself assisting Garson not in art but in crime solving. Can Dickory untangle the web of mysteries within mysteries and discover the true secret hiding on Cobble Lane?