Every time their brother turned a cartwheel, golden oranges fell from his pockets, along with sugar sweets in gold and silver paper. Schnitzle, Schnotzle & Schnootzle
For decades, Gene Hill’s articles and books have captured the spirit of the outdoors in a way that inspires and entertains millions of readers. A Hunter’s Fireside Book captures the essence of the life of a sportsman and explores the full spectrum of the hunter’s experience: sunrises in the duck blind, an unforgettable hunter’s moon, the camaraderie of men who know the pleasures of being wet and cold and a little bit lost.
INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER! "Reading a perfectly plotted Agatha Christie is like crunching into a perfect apple: that pure, crisp, absolute satisfaction.” —Tana French, New York Times bestselling author of the Dublin Murder Squad novels An all-new collection of winter-themed stories from the Queen of Mystery, just in time for the holidays—including the original version of “Christmas Adventure,” never before released in the United States! There’s a chill in the air and the days are growing shorter . . . It’s the perfect time to curl up in front of a crackling fire with these wintry whodunits from the legendary Agatha Christie. But beware of deadly snowdrifts and dangerous gifts, poisoned meals and mysterious guests. This chilling compendium of short stories—some featuring beloved detectives Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple—is an essential omnibus for Christie fans and the perfect holiday gift for mystery lovers. “Agatha Christie [is] the maestro of murder tales.” —People
Duncan Williamson was a Scottish traveller who went on to become one of Britain's master story-tellers. During his lifetime he was acclaimed 'the greatest English-speaking storyteller', 'the national monument of British storytelling' and, at his death, Scotland's 'greatest contemporary storyteller'. Fireside Tales, his first book, reveals this artistry and mastery in all its glory. This new edition is edited by his wife, Linda Williamson. Fireside Tales is narrated with an intense commitment to generations of the travelling people, who used animal fables, wonder tales and splendid horror stories to instil in their children moral judgment and a knowledge of right and wrong. At every corner the technical skill of the narrator is revealed, his ingenious mixture of conversation and action, frequent change of pace, use of the first person – all attributes of the born storyteller which compel attention, where tension and excitement are at fever pitch throughout. With a universality that can relate to every reader, this book represents one of the great collections of traveller stories.
The Irish are tellers of great tales, or one could say, they are great tellers of tales. Either way, we are the beneficiaries of an extraordinary oral tradition of stories, wrapped in myth and magic, preserving an ancient narrative. Tales told by a fire - whether ancient tales of the Celtic gods, kings, and heroes told round an open campfire with a gathering of warriors or elders, or tales of the simple country folk told round a rural kitchen fireplace with a gathering of neighbors on a winter's eve - are vibrant expressions of cultural tradidion and lore.
An English translation of Straeon y Pentan, a fascinating, humorous collection of 19 short stories and character portraits first published in Welsh in 1895. Often based on popular urban legends of the time, it comprises funny depictions of 19th century life in Wales, and although intended for fireside reading during the Victorian era, will bring warmth to modern lives too.
Then Snorri let lower his boat, and was rowed towards her; and, coming alongside, gave a hail, which was unanswered. But from the frozen pile by the tiller there stuck out a man's arm, ghastly to see. Snorri climbed on board by the waist, where her sides were low and a well reached aft from the mast to the poop. There was a cabin beneath the poop, and another and larger room under the deck forward, between the step of the mast and the bows. Into each of these he broke with axes and bars, and in the one found nothing but some cooking-pots and bedding; but in the otherÑthat is, the after-cabinÑthe door, as he burst it in, almost fell against a young man seated by a bed. So life-like was he that Snorri called aloud in the doorway, but anon, peering into the gloomy place, perceived the body to be frozen upright and stiff, and that on the bed lay another body, of a lady slight and young, and very fair. She, too, was dead and frozen; yet her cheeks, albeit white as the pillow against which they rested, had not lost their roundness. Snorri took note also of her dress and of the coverlet reaching from the bed's foot to her waist, that they were of silk for the most part, and richly embroidered, and her shift and the bed-sheets about her of fine linen. The man's dress was poor and coarse by comparison; yet he carried a sword, and was plainly of gentle nurture. The sword Snorri drew from its sheath and brought away; also he took a small box of jewels; but little else could he find on the ship, and no food of any kind. His design was to leave the ship as he found it, carrying away only these tokens that his story, when he arrived at Brattahlid, might be received with faith; and to direct where the ship might be sought for. But as he quitted the cabin some of his men shouted from the deck, where they had discovered yet another body frozen in a drift. This was an old man seated with crossed legs and leaning against the mast, having an ink-horn slung about his neck, and almost hidden by his grey beard, and on his knee a book, which he held with a thumb frozen between two pages. This was the book which Snorri had brought to Brattahlid, and which the Bishop of Garda read aloud to him that same afternoon, translating as he went; the ink being fresh, the writing clerkly, and scarcely a page damaged by the weather. It bore no title; but the Bishop, who afterwards caused his secretary to take a copy of the tale, gave it a very long one, beginning: "God's mercy shown in a Miracle upon certain castaways from Jutland, at the Feast of the Nativity of His Blessed Son, our Lord, in the year MCCCLVII., whereby He made dead trees to put forth in leaf, and comforted desperate men with summer in the midst of the Frozen Sea" . . . with much beside. But all this appears in the tale, which I will head only with the name of the writer.