Literature short story by other literature authors

How Toys Become Real

There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen.

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A Secret of Two

  • Post category:Literature / Other
  • Reading time:8 min(s) read

Montreal is a very large city, but, like all large cities, it has some very small streets. Streets, for instance, like Prince Edward Street, which is only four blocks long, ending in a cul de sac. No one knew Prince Edward Street as well as did Pierre Dupin, for Pierre had delivered milk to the families on the street for thirty years now.

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Who Was She?

  • Post category:Literature / Other
  • Reading time:35 min(s) read

Come, now, there may as well be an end of this! Every time I meet your eyes squarely, I detect the question just slipping out of them. If you had spoken it, or even boldly looked it; if you had shown in your motions the least sign of a fussy or fidgety concern on my account;

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On Being Found Out

  • Post category:Literature / Other
  • Reading time:14 min(s) read

At the close (let us say) of Queen Anne's reign, when I was a boy at a private and preparatory school for young gentlemen, I remember the wiseacre of a master ordering us all, one night, to march into a little garden at the back of the house,

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A Perilous Amour

  • Post category:Literature / Other
  • Reading time:36 min(s) read

Such in brief were the reasons which would have led me, had I followed the promptings of my own sagacity, to oppose the return of the Jesuits.

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The Fowl in the Pot

  • Post category:Literature / Other
  • Reading time:31 min(s) read

What I am going to relate may seem to some merely to be curious and on a party with the diverting story of M. Boisrose, which I have set down in an earlier part of my memoirs.

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Jean Gourdon’s Four Days

  • Post category:Literature / Other
  • Reading time:81 min(s) read

On that particular day, at about five o'clock in the morning, the sun entered with delightful abruptness into the little room I occupied at the house of my uncle Lazare,

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My Aunt Margaret’s Mirror

  • Post category:Literature / Other
  • Reading time:64 min(s) read

My Aunt Margaret was one of that respected sisterhood upon whom devolve all the trouble and solicitude incidental to the possession of children, excepting only that which attends their entrance into the world.

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