Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Little Miss Joy
    Little Miss Joy
    Little Miss Joy
    Ebook133 pages2 hours

    Little Miss Joy

    By Emma Marshall

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Emma Marshall wasan English children's author who wrote more than 200 novels.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKrill Press
    Release dateFeb 22, 2016
    ISBN9781531223496
    Little Miss Joy

    Related to Little Miss Joy

    Related ebooks

    Classics For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Readersʼ Letters

      Jul 27, 2022

      Readersʼ Letters
      6 min read

    • Article

      All This Blood and Love

      Nov 22, 2017

      All This Blood and Love
      6 min read

    • Article

      Stop Hating on Adjectives!

      Jun 12, 2019

      A common admonition in creative writing pedagogy is, “Cut as many adjectives as possible.” I propose that this rule springs from mere prejudice. The post Stop Hating on Adjectives! appeared first on The Millions.

      7 min read

    • Article

      Worlds Of Ink And Paper

      Nov 22, 2022

      As a young girl, I still remember my dear mother, smile on her face, curled up with Family Circle magazine in her lap. She was engrossed in an article titled “Butternut Wisdom,” written by Gladys Taber. At my age, it didn’t mean a thing to me. But as

      6 min read

    • Article

      Inspired By The Past

      Mar 12, 2021

      A selection of intriguing reads, reflecting the many facets of family history interest, with Helen Tovey & Rachel Bellerby by Emma Jolly This extremely useful, essential genealogy read by Emma Jolly came out last year, but for some reason I missed it

      4 min read

    • Article

      Southern Stand

      Mar 16, 2020

      Southern Stand
      5 min read

    • Article

      ‘Bowlaway’: Featured Fiction from Elizabeth McCracken

      Feb 4, 2019

      What she wanted was a kind of greatness that women were not allowed. The post ‘Bowlaway’: Featured Fiction from Elizabeth McCracken appeared first on The Millions.

      12 min read

    • Article

      Summer Reads

      Jun 14, 2022

      Summer Reads
      7 min read

    • Article

      Loyal Toasts

      May 11, 2022

      Loyal Toasts
      8 min read

    • Article

      Reader's Letter

      May 31, 2023

      SIR: I was astonished to read (Spring issue) that Hunter Davies believes he may be the only person left in the UK who has milk delivered in glass bottles every morning. Oop ’ere in t’north, we have milk delivered in this way. We also have Ringtons Te

      6 min read

    • Article

      Commonplace Book

      Jun 4, 2018

      I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me. —Fred Allen I have always wondered, in reading travels, at the childish joy travellers felt at meeting people they knew, and their sense of loneliness when they did not, in

      4 min read

    • Article

      STORY & TRUTH

      Sep 12, 2022

      STORY & TRUTH
      1 min read

    • Article

      Around The World In 100 Plants

      Oct 26, 2022

      Simon Barnes (Simon & Schuster, £30) WE have become used, in recent years, to the convention of 100 short essays as a means of raising the reader’s eyebrows and setting away a never-ending series of big ideas from the starting point of an everyday o

      5 min read

    • Article

      Readers’ Letters

      May 4, 2022

      SIR: I write in respect of the article ‘Gentleman’s Relish’ by Mark Palmer (Spring issue). I too was brought up in Reading in the 1950s, though not, as I suspect in Mr Palmer’s case, as a scion of the excellent company that manufactured biscuits righ

      6 min read

    • Article

      Winter Reads!

      Dec 11, 2020

      Winter Reads!
      5 min read

    • Article

      Shelf Life

      Nov 2, 2023

      I’m not sure if I can truly pinpoint the moment my new novel Once A Monster was born – but I can trace the history of some of its most important ingredients. As a boy, looking through an old illustrated book of Greek myths, and being at once captiva

      5 min read

    • Article

      Ghost Girl, Banana

      Aug 21, 2023

      By the time I was 25, there were only two things I remembered about Mumma. The first was that she smelled of watermelons, the second was that we were happy. We’d taken our father’s name of course, but a name is only half a story. The other half exist

      6 min read

    • Article

      Town & Country Notebook

      Oct 5, 2022

      1) Who invented the seed drill? 2) Who was known as the Hammer of the Scots? 3) Which large, red-listed gamebird lives in Scottish pine forests? 4) A pre-eminent 20th-century mathematician shared the same first name and surname of one of the Regency

      4 min read

    • Article

      Five Poems

      Jan 1, 2022

      The painting is of a door, its wood so warpedwith moisture it cannot close. It stays ajar leaving a sliver of light—enough to suggestsomething sweet and almost unreachable behind the door—and you sit in yourroom working on the bills or those comforti

      4 min read

    • Article

      Bard In The Woods

      Nov 30, 2020

      Bard In The Woods
      4 min read

    • Article

      Homecoming

      Sep 20, 2021

      Homecoming
      7 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Little Miss Joy

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Little Miss Joy - Emma Marshall

      LITTLE MISS JOY

      ..................

      Emma Marshall

      MILK PRESS

      Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the author.

      This book is a work of fiction; its contents are wholly imagined.

      All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

      Copyright © 2016 by Emma Marshall

      Interior design by Pronoun

      Distribution by Pronoun

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      NEW EDITION.: JOHN F. SHAW (1928) & CO., LTD.: Publishers, 3, PILGRIM STREET, LONDON, E.C.4. 1892: PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE ANCHOR PRESS, TIPTREE, ESSEX: CONTENTS.

      CHAPTER I.: WAITING AND WATCHING.

      CHAPTER II.

      CHAPTER III.: AN HONEST BOY.

      CHAPTER IV.: HIS OWN WAY.

      CHAPTER V.: A TEA-PARTY IN THE ROW.

      CHAPTER VI.: A VISIT TO THE SKINNERS.

      CHAPTER VII.: DARK DOINGS.

      CHAPTER VIII.: IN PERIL OF THE SEA.

      CHAPTER IX.: ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA.

      CHAPTER X.: ONLY A LITTLE BOX.

      CHAPTER XI.: MR. SKINNER IN COMMAND.

      CHAPTER XII.: THE SPIRIT OF PEACE.

      CHAPTER XIII.: A TOKEN AT LAST.

      CHAPTER XIV.: THE WAITING IS OVER.

      CHAPTER XV.: THE HERITAGE OF PEACE.

      Little Miss Joy

      By

      Emma Marshall

      Little Miss Joy

      Published by Milk Press

      New York City, NY

      First published circa 1899

      Copyright © Milk Press, 2015

      All rights reserved

      Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

      About Milk Press

      Milk Press loves books, and we want the youngest generation to grow up and love them just as much. We publish classic children’s literature for young and old alike, including cherished fairy tales and the most famous novels and stories.

      NEW EDITION.: JOHN F. SHAW (1928) & CO., LTD.: PUBLISHERS, 3, PILGRIM STREET, LONDON, E.C.4. 1892: PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE ANCHOR PRESS, TIPTREE, ESSEX: CONTENTS.

      ..................

      CHAPTER I.

      CHAPTER II.

      CHAPTER III.

      CHAPTER IV.

      CHAPTER V.

      CHAPTER VI.

      CHAPTER VII.

      CHAPTER VIII.

      CHAPTER IX.

      CHAPTER X.

      CHAPTER XI.

      CHAPTER XII.

      CHAPTER XIII.

      CHAPTER XIV.

      CHAPTER XV.

      CHAPTER I.: WAITING AND WATCHING.

      ..................

      THE SEA LAY CALM AND still under a cloudless sky. The tide was out, and there was only a faint murmur like the whisper of gentle voices, as the little waves told to the sands that they were coming back soon, for the tide had turned.

      It was yet early morning, and the old town of Great Yarmouth was asleep. The fishing boats had been out all night, and were lying like so many black birds with folded wings, waiting for the flow of the water to bring them to the beach. All the blinds were down in the houses facing the level strand. There was no one moving yet, for the resonant clock of Saint Nicholas Church had only just struck four.

      The children of visitors to Yarmouth, tired with their exertions on the sand the evening before, were all wrapt in profound slumber.

      Happy seaside children, who had paddled and delved on the beach to their hearts’ content, who had braved all the reproaches of mothers and nurses, and had gone home with their buckets full of seaweed, pebbles, and shells, looking like the veriest little ragged waifs and strays, who were known as the beach children, and who were an ever-moving population gathered from the depths of the town, pattering with naked feet round the boats as they came to shore, to pick up odd fish which fell from the nets as they were spread out to dry.

      A great expanse of sand stretches out from Yarmouth, and over this the wind whistles through the long parched grass which grows in patches, interspersed with the little pink mallow and stunted thistles, which are not discouraged by their surroundings, and flourish in spite of difficulties. This wide expanse of sand and sand-mounds is called the Denes; and as little weary feet plod over it, it seems in its vastness a very desert of Sahara. Yet there is a charm about the Denes which the children feel. A sense of freedom, and a power to deal with the sand after their own will, were checked by repeated exhortations from governess or nurse to take care of their clothes. Yet the soft silvery sand can do no harm, and a prick from a blade of the pointed grass, or a scratch from a thistle, are the only dangers that beset it.

      The town of Yarmouth lies at some distance from the sea, and possesses one feature of rather unusual interest. There is a fine quay, shaded by trees, alongside which many large ships from all countries lie. There is a wide market-place and several good streets. But the heart and core of the old town is to be found in the rows, narrow thoroughfares with tall houses on either side, where many a competency, if not a fortune, has been made in days past.

      Very little sunshine or light penetrates the rows, and some of the inhabitants have a faded, washed-out look, like that of a plant shut in a dark place, which shows but a faint colour of either leaves or blossom.

      Perhaps the pale woman standing by the door of a small shop, the shutters of which were not yet taken down, was a fair specimen of her neighbours. She was tall, but drooped so much that her real height was lost. She had a sad face, where lines of care and anxiety had made a network perhaps earlier in life than wrinkles had any right to appear, if they should be traced by time rather than by sorrow. For Patience Harrison was not an old woman, and had scarcely entered her thirty-sixth year.

      As she stood at the narrow entry of the shop, her hands folded, her head bent forward, she might well attract any passer-by, while she looked right and left, as if in hopes of seeing a well-known figure come into the row, from either end.

      Up and down, up and down, that eager, hungry glance, with an infinite pathos in the dark eyes, scanned the narrow passage; and grew more pathetic and more hungry every moment.

      At last footsteps were heard on the pavement. Patience started, and took a step forward, only to draw back again disappointed.

      The top of the morning to you, Mrs. Harrison. You are about early. It is as fine a summer morning as I ever was out in.

      The speaker was a tall, well-knit young man of two or three and thirty, with a fine open countenance, and a broad square brow, round which thick light curls clustered. No contrast could be greater than between Patience Harrison and George Paterson: the man so full of life, and the enjoyment of life; the woman so languid and weary-looking. He seemed as if the world were a pleasant place to him, she as if it were a waste and a wilderness.

      You are up and about early, George repeated. Indeed, you look as if you hadn’t been to bed. I hope you haven’t been up all night. Have you, now?

      Yes. How could I sleep? How could I rest? There was a worse storm than ever last night at supper-time, and—and—Jack ran away out of the house, and has never come back.

      The young rascal! George exclaimed. I’d like to thrash him!

      Oh, don’t say so! Don’t say so! If ever a boy is scourged by a tongue, Jack is. I mean to leave this house; I can’t—I can’t bear it any longer.

      Well, George said, his eyes shining with a bright light—the light of hope—well, there’s a home ready for you, you know that. The sooner you come, the better.

      You know I can’t do it. Why do you ask me? I wonder you should ask me.

      I see no wonder in it, was the answer. You’ve watched and waited for eleven years; sure that’s long enough! He will never come back.

      Yes, she said sadly; yes. I have waited and watched, as you say. It is the business of my life. I shall watch and wait to the end.

      George Paterson gave an impatient gesture, and settled the workman’s basket on his broad shoulders, as if he were going to walk on. But after a pace or two he seemed to change his mind, and stopping, he said—

      But what about Jack? How did it happen?

      He offended her yesterday. He brought dirty boots into the parlour; and he blew a tune on the little cornet you gave him, when she told him to be quiet. He upset a jug of water on the table, and he made a face at her, and he called her ‘an old cat.’ He had no business to call her names.

      George laughed.

      A very fitting name, I think; he has felt her claws often enough. Well, what then?

      Then she boxed his ears—it was at supper—and he flew into a rage, and he would not listen to me, but tore out of the room, out of the house, and has never come back. Oh, George, what if there should be two to wait and watch for, instead of one! Jack! Jack! How could he leave me?

      He can’t have gone far; and, as to being out all night, why, that won’t hurt him. The young rascal, to give you all this trouble! Yes, I’ll go and hunt for him; and if I catch him, won’t I give it to him!

      No, George; no. Remember his provocation. Remember he has had no father, only a mother like me to control him.

      "Only

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1