This image is the cover for the book Dick, Marjorie and Fidge, A Search for the Wonderful Dodo, Classics To Go

Dick, Marjorie and Fidge, A Search for the Wonderful Dodo, Classics To Go

Excerpt: "“Dick! Dick! Wake up, I want to tell you something.” Marjorie stood outside the boy’s bedroom door, and called in as loud a whisper as she dared, fearing lest she should awaken the rest of the household. There was a scuffle and a patter of bare feet inside, and Dick appeared at the door rubbing his eyes, evidently only half awake. “What’s up?” he demanded. “Hush! don’t make a noise. There’s such a2 funny sound down-stairs—I believe it’s burglars. Listen!” “Pooh! this time in the morning. What nonsense.” “Well it’s been going on for ever so long, anyhow, and hark, there’s something keeps banging about like anything in the breakfast-room.” Dick ran to the top of the stairs and listened. Sure enough, there was a most mysterious noise going on below,—a dull banging at regular intervals, and a curious lapping sound, as though there was water in the lower part of the house. “Let’s go and see what’s up!” said Dick promptly. “Me too,” said a shrill treble voice, and a little curly-headed apparition came running out of the bedroom, flourishing a wooden spade. “No! you cut along into bed again, Fidge,” cried Dick. “Want to go and see the bur-ge-lers!” declared Fidge, pushing past them, and racing down the stairs. “Come back, you scamp,” cried Dick, running3 after him; but with a saucy and defiant laugh Fidge sped down to the first landing. “Ooh!” he cried, looking over the banisters, “It’s all drownded; look, Dick! quick!” Dick and Marjorie hurried down and leaned over the banisters too. “Hullo! what a lark!” exclaimed Dick. “There’s been a high tide, and the house is flooded. Come on, this is ripping!” and the boy dashed down-stairs, followed by the others. The breakfast-room door stood open, and, wading ankle deep in water, the children soon reached it. An extraordinary sight met their eyes."

G. E. Farrow

George Edward Farrow (17 March 1862 – 1919 born in Ipswich in England, was a noted British children's book author of whose life little is known. The son of George Farrow, a cement manufacturer in Ipswich, and his wife Emily, G.E. Farrow was educated in London and America. In 1891 he was working as a clerk to the Collector of Inland Revenue and was living at No 190 Dalston Lane in Hackney. In 1901 he was living at No 83 Sterndale Road in Hammersmith. By this time his occupation is listed as 'Author'. On both these dates his mother was living with him. He also lived for a time in Brook Green in West Kensington. During his literary career Farrow wrote more than thirty books for children. He encouraged his young readers to write to him, answered their letters, and let their tastes and opinions guide his future works (rather like his American contemporary L. Frank Baum). Though he wrote adventure tales and poetry, Farrow was best known for his nonsense books written in the tradition of Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, especially his Wallypug series.

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