Book 1: POLLYANNA

CHAPTER I. MISS POLLY 

Miss Polly Harrington entered her kitchen a little hurriedly this June morning. Miss Polly did not usually make hurried movements; she specially prided herself on her repose of manner. But to-day she was hurrying--actually hurrying. 

Nancy, washing dishes at the sink, looked up in surprise. Nancy had been working in Miss Polly's kitchen only two months, but already she knew that her mistress did not usually hurry. 

"Nancy!" 

"Yes, ma'am." Nancy answered cheerfully, but she still continued wiping the pitcher in her hand. 

"Nancy,"--Miss Polly's voice was very stern now--"when I'm talking to you, I wish you to stop your work and listen to what I have to say." 

Nancy flushed miserably. She set the pitcher down at once, with the cloth still about it, thereby nearly tipping it over--which did not add to her composure. 

"Yes, ma'am; I will, ma'am," she stammered, righting the pitcher, and turning hastily. "I was only keepin' on with my work 'cause you specially told me this mornin' ter hurry with my dishes, ye know." 

Her mistress frowned. 

"That will do, Nancy. I did not ask for explanations. I asked for your attention."

Book 2: ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN

ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN
Scene:  The Mississippi Valley Time:  Forty to fifty years ago

CHAPTER I.
YOU don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter.  That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly.  There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth.  That is nothing.  I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary.  Aunt Polly--Tom's Aunt Polly, she is--and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.

Book 3: PETER PAN

Chapter 1 PETER BREAKS THROUGH
All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, "Oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!" This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.