Writing For Children Is An Art In

I Get Over A Hundred Letters A Day From All Over The World, From Children And Parents, And It's A Wonder I Ever Have Time To Write Books, Let Alone Speak!

Oh, I Wish I Lived In A Caravan!’ Said Jimmy Longingly. ‘how Lovely It Must Be To Live In A House That Has Wheels And Can Go Away Down The Lanes And Through The Towns, And Stand Still In Fields At Night!

I Wonder Where You Got That Idea From? I Mean, The Idea That It's Feeble To Change Your Mind Once It's Made Up. That's A Wrong Idea, You Know. Make Up Your Mind About Things, By All Means - But If Something Happens To Show That You Are Wrong, Then It Is Feeble Not To Change Your Mind, Elizabeth. Only The Strongest People Have The Pluck To Change Their Minds, And Say So, If They See They Have Been Wrong In Their Ideas.

The Little Island Seemed To Float On The Dark Lake-waters. Trees Grew On It, And A Little Hill Rose In The Middle Of It. It Was A Mysterious Island, Lonely And Beautiful. All The Children Stood And Gazed At It, Loving It And Longing To Go To It. It Looked So Secret - Almost Magic.

The Secret Island Had Looked Mysterious Enough On The Night They Had Seen It Before - But Now, Swimming In The Hot June Haze, It Seemed More Enchanting Than Ever. As They Drew Near To It, And Saw The Willow Trees That Bent Over The Water-edge And Heard The Sharp Call Of Moorhens That Scuttled Off, The Children Gazed In Delight. Nothing But Trees And Birds And Little Wild Animals. Oh, What A Secret Island, All For Their Very Own, To Live On And Play On.