A Dark Brown Dog. By Stephen Crane A Dark-Brown dog and the accompanying illustrations were published in Cosmopolitan, March 1901.
The story was probably written in the summer of 1893. A Child was standing on a street-corner. He leaned with one shoulder against a high board-fence and swayed the other to and fro, the while kicking carelessly at the gravel. Sunshine beat upon the cobbles, and a lazy summer wind raised yellow dust which trailed in clouds down the avenue. After a time, a little dark-brown dog came trotting with an intent air down the sidewalk. He stopped opposite the child, and the two regarded each other. This thing seemed to overpower and astonish the little dark-brown dog, and wounded him to the heart. He looked so comical on his back, and holding his paws peculiarly, that the child was greatly amused and gave him little taps repeatedly, to keep him so. At last the child grew weary of this amusement and turned toward home. Presently he struggled to his feet and started after the child. The Necklace by Guy de Maupassant. The Necklace She was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate had blundered over her, into a family of artisans.
She had no marriage portion, no expectations, no means of getting known, understood, loved, and wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and she let herself be married off to a little clerk in the Ministry of Education. Her tastes were simple because she had never been able to afford any other, but she was as unhappy as though she had married beneath her; for women have no caste or class, their beauty, grace, and charm serving them for birth or family, their natural delicacy, their instinctive elegance, their nimbleness of wit, are their only mark of rank, and put the slum girl on a level with the highest lady in the land. She suffered endlessly, feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury. She suffered from the poorness of her house, from its mean walls, worn chairs, and ugly curtains. She had no clothes, no jewels, nothing. "Nothing. "Yes. "What!
Americanliterature. By O.
Henry It looked like a good thing: but wait till I tell you. We were down South, in Alabama--Bill Driscoll and myself-when this kidnapping idea struck us. It was, as Bill afterward expressed it, "during a moment of temporary mental apparition"; but we didn't find that out till later. There was a town down there, as flat as a flannel-cake, and called Summit, of course. Bill and me had a joint capital of about six hundred dollars, and we needed just two thousand dollars more to pull off a fraudulent town-lot scheme in Western Illinois with.
We selected for our victim the only child of a prominent citizen named Ebenezer Dorset. About two miles from Summit was a little mountain, covered with a dense cedar brake. One evening after sundown, we drove in a buggy past old Dorset's house. "Hey, little boy! " The boy catches Bill neatly in the eye with a piece of brick. "That will cost the old man an extra five hundred dollars," says Bill, climbing over the wheel. "Ha! "I like this fine. "Me? " The Split Cherry Tree. Jackson_lottery.