Most Popular Books by Mary Mapes Dodge

A collection of stories about young children from Holland and America.

"Early to bed and early to rise: If that would make me wealthy and wise I''d rise at daybreak, cold or hot, And go back to bed at once. Why not?" -Mary Mapes Dodge, Rhymes and Jingles (1874) Rhymes and Jingles (1874) by Mary Mapes Dodge contains 200 poems written to delight children. Ten of these follow a traditional format, but the majority are quite short and were written as "garden songs," a genre of verses that are intended to be set to music. They are also accompanied by line drawings. When it appeared, the book was so popular that it was often compared favorably to the author''s more famous work, Hans Brinker.

In a little Dutch village covered in snow, Hans Brinker and his sister, Gretel, enter a race with two grand prizes: a pair of skates for a boy and another for a girl. Will they win the silver skates?

Reproduction of the original. The publishing house Megali specialises in reproducing historical works in large print to make reading easier for people with impaired vision.

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In Holland, poor but industrious and honorable 15 year-old Hans Brinker and his younger sister Gretel yearn to participate in December''s great ice skating race on the canal. They have little chance of doing well on their handmade wooden skates, but the prospect of the race and the prize of the silver skates excites them and fires their dreams. Hans'' father, Raff Brinker, suffered head trauma when he fell from a dike. It left him chronically ill, with episodes of amnesia and occasional violent outbursts, so he is unable to work. Mrs. Brinker, Hans, and Gretel must all work to support the family and are looked down upon in the community because they are poor. By chance, Hans meets the famous surgeon Dr.Boekman and begs him to treat their father, but the doctor''s fees are expensive. What will Hans do now to help his father? Will he get to live his dream of skating on the ice?

Mary Mapes Dodge (1831-1905) was an American children''s writer and editor. In 1859 she began writing and editing, working with her father to publish two magazines, the Working Farmer and the United States Journal. Within a few years she had great success with a collection of short stories, The Irvington Stories (1864), and then with the novel for which she is best known; Hans Brinker; or, The Silver Skates (1865). A part of the novel became an American legend. In the novel a tale is read out in class: The Hero of Haarlem about a Dutch boy who saved his country by putting his finger in a leaking dike, and staying there all night in spite of the cold. The book was an instant bestseller. Later in life she was an associate editor of Hearth and Home, edited by Harriet Beecher Stowe. She became an editor in her own right with the children''s St. Nicholas Magazine, for she was able to solicit stories from a number of well-known writers including Mark Twain, Louisa May Alcott, and Robert Louis Stevenson.

Classic novel, a part of which became an American legend. In the novel a tale is read out in class: The Hero of Haarlem, about a Dutch boy who saved his country by putting his finger in a leaking dike, and staying there all night in spite of the cold. The book was an an instant bestseller.

Modern Short Stories: A Book for High Schools'' represents a seminal collection that embraces a kaleidoscope of literary styles and themes, reflecting the complexity and depth of human experiences. This anthology excellently showcases the diversity of the early twentieth-century short story, threading through the social fabric of different cultures and philosophical outlooks. From the adventurous landscapes of Jack London to the psychological intricacies of Leo Tolstoy, the collection is a testament to the stories ability to captivate, educate, and provoke thought, while presenting a remarkable range of narrative voices and techniques. The inclusion of tales by figures such as Rudyard Kipling and Arthur Conan Doyle highlights significant works that have influenced the contours of modern literary expression. The contributing authors and editors, drawn from a rich tapestry of cultural and literary backgrounds, collectively present an unparalleled exploration of the era''s socio-cultural dynamics. Their stories, representative of various literary movements from naturalism to romanticism, together provide a panoramic view of the shifting currents of early 20th century society and thought. By juxtaposing works of authors like Mary Mapes Dodge with those of Ernest Thompson Seton, the anthology uncovers the versatile power of the short story medium to traverse thematic boundaries, from childhood innocence to the complexities of adult life, thereby enriching the readers understanding of a transformative epoch in literature. Modern Short Stories: A Book for High Schools invites readers on an enlightening journey through the landscape of early modern literature, offering a unique compilation that is as educational as it is entertaining. It serves not only as a gateway to the minds and hearts of its authors but also as a mirror reflecting the universal truths and challenges of the human condition. This anthology is an indispensable resource for anyone seeking to delve into the richness of short story literature, providing a comprehensive exploration of its multifaceted themes, styles, and cultural perspectives, thereby fostering a dialogue between the past and present literary worlds.

A young girl tells how she dressed her Christmas doll in pretty clothes, from petticoat to hat, and supplied her with a fan and a parasol.

Reprint of the original, first published in 1873.

On a bright December morning long ago, two thinly clad children were kneeling upon the bank of a frozen canal in Holland.The sun had not yet appeared, but the gray sky was parted near the horizon, and its edges shone crimson with the coming day. Most of the good Hollanders were enjoying a placid morning nap. Even Mynheer von Stoppelnoze, that worthy old Dutchman, was still slumbering "in beautiful repose".Now and then some peasant woman, poising a well-filled basket upon her head, came skimming over the glassy surface of the canal; or a lusty boy, skating to his day''s work in the town, cast a good-natured grimace toward the shivering pair as he flew along.Meanwhile, with many a vigorous puff and pull, the brother and sister, for such they were, seemed to be fastening something to their feet-not skates, certainly, but clumsy pieces of wood narrowed and smoothed at their lower edge, and pierced with holes, through which were threaded strings of rawhide.These queer-looking affairs had been made by the boy Hans. His mother was a poor peasant woman, too poor even to think of such a thing as buying skates for her little ones. Rough as these were, they had afforded the children many a happy hour upon the ice. And now, as with cold, red fingers our young Hollanders tugged at the strings-their solemn faces bending closely over their knees-no vision of impossible iron runners came to dull the satisfaction glowing within.In a moment the boy arose and, with a pompous swing of the arms and a careless "Come on, Gretel," glided easily across the canal."Ah, Hans," called his sister plaintively, "this foot is not well yet. The strings hurt me on last market day, and now I cannot bear them tied in the same place.""Tie them higher up, then," answered Hans, as without looking at her he performed a wonderful cat''s cradle step on the ice."How can I? The string is too short."Giving vent to a good-natured Dutch whistle, the English of which was that girls were troublesome creatures, he steered toward her."You are foolish to wear such shoes, Gretel, when you have a stout leather pair. Your klompen would be better than these.""Why, Hans! Do you forget? The father threw my beautiful new shoes in the fire. Before I knew what he had done, they were all curled up in the midst o the burning peat. I can skate with these, but not with my wooden ones. Be careful now-"Hans had taken a string from his pocket. Humming a tune as he knelt beside her, he proceeded to fasten Gretel''s skate with all the force of his strong young arm."Oh! oh!" she cried in real pain.With an impatient jerk Hans unwound the string. He would have cast it on the ground in true big-brother style, had he not just then spied a tear trickling down his sister''s cheek."I''ll fix it-never fear," he said with sudden tenderness, "but we must be quick. The mother will need us soon."Then he glanced inquiringly about him, first at the ground, next at some bare willow branches above his head, and finally at the sky, now gorgeous with streaks of blue, crimson, and gold.Finding nothing in any of these localities to meet his need, his eye suddenly brightened as, with the air of a fellow who knew what he was about, he took off his cap and, removing the tattered lining, adjusted it in a smooth pad over the top of Gretel''s worn-out shoe."Now," he cried triumphantly, at the same time arranging the strings as briskly as his benumbed fingers would allow, "can you bear some pulling?"Gretel drew up her lips as if to say, "Hurt away," but made no further response.In another moment they were all laughing together, as hand in hand they flew along the canal, never thinking whether the ice would bear them or not, for in Holland ice is generally an all-winter affair. It settles itself upon the water in a determined kind of way, and so far from growing thin and uncertain every time the sun is a little severe upon it, it gathers its forces day by day and flashes defiance to every beam.

On a bright December morning long ago, two thinly clad children were kneeling upon the bank of a frozen canal in Holland.The sun had not yet appeared, but the gray sky was parted near the horizon, and its edges shone crimson with the coming day. Most of the good Hollanders were enjoying a placid morning nap. Even Mynheer von Stoppelnoze, that worthy old Dutchman, was still slumbering "in beautiful repose".Now and then some peasant woman, poising a well-filled basket upon her head, came skimming over the glassy surface of the canal; or a lusty boy, skating to his day''s work in the town, cast a good-natured grimace toward the shivering pair as he flew along.Meanwhile, with many a vigorous puff and pull, the brother and sister, for such they were, seemed to be fastening something to their feet--not skates, certainly, but clumsy pieces of wood narrowed and smoothed at their lower edge, and pierced with holes, through which were threaded strings of rawhide.These queer-looking affairs had been made by the boy Hans. His mother was a poor peasant woman, too poor even to think of such a thing as buying skates for her little ones. Rough as these were, they had afforded the children many a happy hour upon the ice. And now, as with cold, red fingers our young Hollanders tugged at the strings--their solemn faces bending closely over their knees--no vision of impossible iron runners came to dull the satisfaction glowing within.In a moment the boy arose and, with a pompous swing of the arms and a careless "Come on, Gretel," glided easily across the canal."Ah, Hans," called his sister plaintively, "this foot is not well yet. The strings hurt me on last market day, and now I cannot bear them tied in the same place.""Tie them higher up, then," answered Hans, as without looking at her he performed a wonderful cat''s cradle step on the ice."How can I? The string is too short."Giving vent to a good-natured Dutch whistle, the English of which was that girls were troublesome creatures, he steered toward her."You are foolish to wear such shoes, Gretel, when you have a stout leather pair. Your klompen would be better than these.""Why, Hans! Do you forget? The father threw my beautiful new shoes in the fire. Before I knew what he had done, they were all curled up in the midst o the burning peat. I can skate with these, but not with my wooden ones. Be careful now--"Hans had taken a string from his pocket. Humming a tune as he knelt beside her, he proceeded to fasten Gretel''s skate with all the force of his strong young arm."Oh! oh!" she cried in real pain.With an impatient jerk Hans unwound the string. He would have cast it on the ground in true big-brother style, had he not just then spied a tear trickling down his sister''s cheek."I''ll fix it--never fear," he said with sudden tenderness, "but we must be quick. The mother will need us soon."Then he glanced inquiringly about him, first at the ground, next at some bare willow branches above his head, and finally at the sky, now gorgeous with streaks of blue, crimson, and gold.Finding nothing in any of these localities to meet his need, his eye suddenly brightened as, with the air of a fellow who knew what he was about, he took off his cap and, removing the tattered lining, adjusted it in a smooth pad over the top of Gretel''s worn-out shoe."Now," he cried triumphantly, at the same time arranging the strings as briskly as his benumbed fingers would allow, "can you bear some pulling?"Gretel drew up her lips as if to say, "Hurt away," but made no further response.