Master Potter: Chronicles of Master Potter

Because of Stephen by Grace Livingston Hill

THE ROOM was full of blue smoke from bacon sizzling on the stove when Philip Earle came in.

Philip was hungry, but there was a weirdly monotonous reminder of preceding meals in the odor of the bacon that took the edge from his appetite.

The lamp was doing its best to help both the smoke and the odor that filled the room; any other function it might have had being held in abeyance by the smoke.

The lamp was on a little shelf on the wall, and under it, half hidden by the smoke, stood another young man bending over the stove.

There was nothing attractive about the room. It was made of rough boards: walls, floor, and ceiling. The furniture was an old extension table, several chairs, a cheap cot covered with a gray army blanket, and a desk which showed hard usage, piled high with papers and a few books. A wooden bench over by the stove held a tin wash-basin and cooking-utensils in harmonious proximity.

Several coats and hats and a horse-blanket hung on nails driven into the walls. A line of boots and shoes stood against the base-board. There was nothing else but a barrel and several boxes.

The table was set for supper: that is, it held a loaf of bread, two cups and knives and spoons, a bag of crackers, a paper of cheese, a pitcher of water, and a can of baked beans newly opened.

Philip added to the confusion already on the table by throwing his bundles down at one end. Then he stood his whip in one corner, and tossed his felt hat across the room to the cot, where it lay as if accustomed to staying where it landed.

"A letter for you, Steve!” he said as he sat down at the table and ran his hands wearily through his thick black hair...

Miranda by Grace Livingston Hill

Miranda is the book 3 of the Marcia Schuyler Trilogy which can be read as a stand alone story as well.

Miranda is happy working in the house of her beloved friends David and Marcia Spafford, even though deep down in her heart there is a longing for Allan Whitney, a young man whom she had rescued from hanging many years before. He had disappeared, but she felt that he would some day return for her. At last she finds him and is able to help him in that great movement, the occupation of Oregon when threatened by English rule. Here Miranda leads her rivals and other plotters a spirited chase, enjoying herself immensely all the while. A charming romance, centering around a girl whose opportunities for education have been limited, but whose character is unique in its combination of strength and beauty.

Katharine's Yesterday by Grace Livingston Hill

Katharine Bowman stood at the front gate of her father’s house, looking drearily down the road at nothing in particular. The air was crisp and clear, and the sun shine of the early morning was making everything dance and sparkle. All the brilliant red leaves, with their dew-covered faces, came fluttering down with a frosty air. They clanked and clattered against one another, as if to pretend that fall was well on its way and winter would soon be here. Nothing could have looked more enticing that October morning; the air, the sunshine, the leaves, and the very grass seemed full of delightful possibilities. Katharine saw them all: the little whirls of white dust down the road; the purple and blue mists on the distant hills at the end of the street; the big hill, or “mountain” as it was called, which loomed up before her just across the meadows. She had climbed it in company with a party of young-people only a few days before. A little brisk black-and-tan dog moved along the sidewalk in a lively manner, and the cheerful little sparrows that hopped in the road did not care whether winter came or not, but none of them gave Katharine any pleasure or sense of joy.

The truth was...

Lone Point is a sweet and wholesome Christian Romance by Grace Livingston Hill.

RACHEL HAMMOND sat by the open window with her Bible on her knee. The muslin curtains did not blow with the breeze, for there was no breeze that hot morning in June. The air seemed breathless. Rachel had put her pretty room in order, finished all her little morning duties, and now had sat down for a quiet minute with her Bible before she began the day.

Her sister Maria, two years older, sat in the adjoining room, her door open for all possible circulation of air. Indeed the door between the sisters’ rooms was scarcely ever shut by day or by night. But Maria was trimming a hat instead of reading her Bible. Not that Maria did not read her Bible, for she did, but she never had a set, quiet time for doing it as Rachel had.

The hat was a white sailor and had been very stylish and consequently very expensive earlier in the season, but now the mass of people....

The Angel of His Presence by Grace Livingston Hill

A sweet Christian fiction.

JOHN WENTWORTH STANLEY stood on the deck of an Atlantic liner looking off to sea and meditating. The line of smoke that floated away from his costly cigar followed the line of smoke from the steamer as if it were doing honest work to help get Mr. Stanley to New York. The Sea in the distance was sparkling and monotonous and the horizon line empty and bright, but Mr. Stanly seemed to see before him the hazy outlines of New York as they would appear in about twenty-four hours more, if all went well. And of course all would go well. He had no doubt about that. Everything had always gone well for him.

        Especially well had been these last two years of travel and study abroad. He reflected with satisfaction upon the knowledge and experience he had gained in his own special lines, upon the polish he had acquired, and he glanced over himself, metaphorically speaking, and found no fault in John Wentworth Stanley. He was not too Parisian in his differential manner, he was not too English in his deliberation, neither was he, that worst of all traits in his eyes, too American in his bluntness. He had acquired something from each nation, and considered that the combined result was good. It is a comfortable feeling to be satisfied with one’s self.

       Nor he had been shut entirely out of the higher circles of foreign society. There were Pleasant memories of delightful evenings within the noble walls of exclusive homes, of dinners and other enjoyable occasions with great personages where he had been an honored guest. When he thought of this, he raised his chest an inch higher and stood just a little straighter.

       There was also a memory picture of one, perhaps more, but notably of one “ladye of high degree,” who had not shown indifference to his various charms. It was pleasant to feel that one could if one would. In due time he would consider this question more carefully. In near future this lady was to visit America. He had promised himself......