At the Bar-Tor farm in Dartmoor, owned by young Robert Hamlin. Downstairs, on the red land of Devon, a porcelain clay deposit was found, the value of which, although not fantastic, was large enough...
This spring was the most treasured possession of Kurt, since without him there could not have been a trout farm that gave him life. There was never a day when he did not inspect it, and it was very...
A few minutes passed, and Martin, lazily tapping his pencil on paper, seemed to have little interest in sounds. Then suddenly his attitude changed, his back straightened, and a look of passionate i...
The cold drizzle made Plymouth unhappy, and it was with a sigh of relief that Bruce Carey exchanged the greasy, dirty platform of North Road Station for the warm, well-lit comfort of a first-class ...
The TEA at the Wasperton School was nothing more than thick slices of bread and margarine and an ominous black mixture served in huge metal teapots. The food was so bad that the boys could hardly e...
The long table was filled with guys from Overton’s school, everyone was busy with breakfast and talked from sixteen to a dozen. Only two days remained until the end of the summer semester, an...