Originally published: New York: Knopf, 1982.

This collection of literature attempts to compile many of the classic, timeless works that have stood the test of time and offer them at a reduced, affordable price, in an attractive volume so that everyone can enjoy them.

"Dear child," she said now, in a voice which trembled with anxiety and affection, "you know that you are too tired to go out in the morning; but this afternoon, perhaps, we will go down to the river. Will not that be better, my darling?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose so," sighed the child; but though she said no more, she did not turn her eyes away from the blooming roses and the waving leaves below her.

"Oh, it is so beautiful down there! Do let me go out, mamma!"

LOUISE BROOKS and Jan Wahl had a special, roller-coaster relationship lasting twenty-odd years. He met the legendary star when he was a student; it turned out each of them hoped to be a writer. This intense friendship continued by letter and in person. The letters from Louise reveal much of her inner personality--her insights and anecdotes make fascinating, compelling reading. JAN WAHL is the author of over 100 books for children of all ages; he has won numerous awards. His work has been translated into many languages.

Like many of Johanna Spyri's works, "Uncle Titus" begins with a painful loss of a parent. But this loss gives way to new hope, and a life of promise . . .

Rico was almost nine years old, and had been to school for two winters. Up there in the mountains there was no school in the summertime; for then the teacher had his field to cultivate, and his hay and wood to cut, like everybody else, and nobody had time to think of going to school. This was not a great sorrow for Rico, -- he knew how to amuse himself. When he had once taken his place in the morning on the threshold, he would stand there for hours without moving, gazing into the far distance with dreamy eyes, if the door of the house over the way did not open, and a little girl make her appearance and look over at him laughingly. Then Rico ran over to her in a trice, and the children were busy enough in telling each other what had happened since the evening before, and talked incessantly, until Stineli was called into the house. The girl's name was Stineli, and she and Rico were of exactly the same age. They began to go to school at the same time, were in the same classes, and from that time forward were always together; for there was only a narrow path between their cottages, and they were the dearest of friends. . . .

A classic tale of loss and childhood from the author of Heidi. . . .

"Be still, be still," said the woman. The child's mother was gone, lost to the fierceness of the winter. "I shall find something pretty for you presently; then you must sit down quietly and play with it, and not go outside, not one step, do you hear? Pshaw! there is nothing but rubbish here!"

"Well, then give us the rose," said the little girl, still scowling.

The woman looked about the room.

"There are no roses here," she said. "How should there be, in March?" she added, half vexed at having looked for them.

"There," said the child, pointing towards a book that the woman had but a moment before replaced in the cup-board.

"Ah! now I know what you mean. So your mother always kept the rose, the 'Fortune rose?' I often envied her when she used to show it to us. . . ."