Books with author Rob MacGregor

LONG, long years ago, Troy, one of the great cities in Asia Minor, was taken by the Greeks. Many mighty Trojans had defended their city well, and among them all none had fought more bravely than the prince Æneas. But when Æneas saw that the Greeks had set fire to the city, he fled, carrying, it is said, his father on his shoulders, and grasping by the hand his son Ascanius. Moreover, so precious to him was the sacred image of the goddess Pallas, that he saved it from the burning city. The gods, pleased with his reverence, helped him in his flight by building a ship. So when Æneas reached the sea he at once embarked in it, with his followers and their wives, and sailed away to seek for a new land in which to build a new city. As the Trojans sailed they saw a bright star shining above them. Day and night the star was always to be seen, showing the seafarers the direction in which to steer. At length the Trojans reached the western shore of Italy, and here, at a town called Latium, they disembarked. The women were weary of the sea, and no sooner had they landed than they began to wonder how they could persuade their husbands to journey no farther, but to settle in the pleasant country which they had reached. Among these women was a lady of noble birth, who was wise as she was good. Roma, for that was the lady's name, proposed that they should burn the ship in which they had sailed. Then it would be impossible for their husbands to go any farther in search of a new home...

Queen Guinevere lay idly in bed dreaming beautiful dreams. The sunny morning hours were slipping away, but she was so happy in dreamland, that she did not remember that her little maid had called her long ago. But the Queen's dreams came to an end at last, and all at once she remembered that this was the morning she had promised to go to the hunt with King Arthur.

Queen Guinevere lay idly in bed dreaming beautiful dreams. The sunny morning hours were slipping away, but she was so happy in dreamland, that she did not remember that her little maid had called her long ago. But the Queen's dreams came to an end at last, and all at once she remembered that this was the morning she had promised to go to the hunt with King Arthur.

THE story of Greece began long, long ago in a strange wonderland of beauty. Woods and winds, fields and rivers, each had a pathway which led upward and onward into the beautiful land. Sometimes indeed no path was needed, for the rivers, woods, and lone hill-sides were themselves the wonderland of which I am going to tell. In the woods and winds, in the trees and rivers, dwelt the gods and goddesses whom the people of long ago worshipped. It was their presence in the world that made it so great, so wide, so wonderful. To the Hellenes, for that is the name by which the Greeks called themselves, there were eyes, living eyes in flowers, trees and water. 'So crowded full is the air with them,' wrote one poet who lived in the far-off days, 'that there is no room to put in the spike of an ear of corn without touching one.'When the wind blew soft, the Hellenes listened to the whispering of a voice. When it blew rough, and snatched one of the children from their midst, they did not greatly grieve. The child had but gone to be the playmate of the gods. The springs sparkled clean, for in them dwelt the Naiads or freshwater nymphs, with gifts as great as the river gods, who were ofttimes seen and heard amid the churning, tossing waters. In the trees dwelt the Dryads, nymphs these of the forest, and whom the Hellenes saw but seldom. Shy nymphs were the Dryads, born each one at the birth of a tree, in which she dwelt, fading away when the tree was felled, or when it withered and died. Their revels were held in some wooded mountain, far from the haunts of men. Were a human footfall heard, the frolics ceased on the instant, while each Dryad sped swift for shelter to the tree of her birth. So the gods wandered though the land, filling the earth with their presence. Yet there was one lofty mountain in central Greece, named Mount Olympus, which the Hellenes believed was the peculiar home of the gods. It was to this great mount that the actual roads on which the Hellenes walked each day seemed ever to lead. On the sides of the mountain, green trees and dark pines clustered close. The summit reached high up, beyond the clouds, so used the ancient people to tell. Here, where no human foot had ever climbed, up beyond the twinkling stars, was the abode of the gods...

Long, long ago the land which we now call France was called Gaul.Gaul was much larger than France is to-day, although north, south, and west France has the same boundaries now as Gaul had in the far-off days of which I am going to tell you.What these boundaries are, many a geography lesson will have shown. But, lest you have forgotten, take a map of Europe, and you will see that on the north France has to protect her the English Channel, on the south she is guarded by the Mediterranean and the Pyrenees, while on her west roll the waters of the Atlantic. These mountains and waters were also the bulwarks of ancient Gaul.It was on the east that Gaul stretched far beyond the boundaries of France, reaching to the Alps and to the swift-flowing river Rhine.And it is of Gaul, as it was in those far-off days many centuries B.C., that I wish first to tell you.The large tract of land called Gaul was then little more than a dreary waste of moor and marsh, with great forests, larger and gloomier than any you have ever seen.Through these forests and marshlands terrible beasts prowled—wolves, bears, wild oxen. Herds of swine, too, fierce as any wolves, roamed through the marshes. These had been tamed enough to answer to their keepers horn...

This looks at the legends of the Netherlands. From the intro: 'I believe there is no boy, the wide world over, who has not once upon a time set out in search of a hero, and found him, too, in many an unlikely corner. And thereupon he has set him up in a niche of the temple which he keeps for the most part locked, but which at rare moments he visits, reverently and with care. I who write came one day to a little sea-swept land bound by great reaches of grass-tied dunes, and there, lingering to learn the history of the country, unawares I found my hero. For the Romance of the Netherlands is in truth the life of William the Silent writ large. And in these pages, if the face of William of Nassau, Prince of Orange, does not look at you with living eyes, and if his voice does not vibrate in your heart in living tones, the glamour of the tale has been lost in the telling. You may shut the book in discontent. But if you find a living man, baffled indeed and often beaten, yet one who struggles on through failure to victory, one who gives his time, his possessions, and his life for the sake of his country, then unlock the temple where your heroes stand, and in a niche apart place William the Silent, the father of his people."

More than four hundred years ago there lived a man called SirThomas Malory, who wrote in English words many of the beautifulWelsh tales about King Arthur’s Knights, that the people of Walesloved so well.All the stories in this little book were found in Malory’s big book,except “Geraint and Enid.” But it, too, is one of the old Welsh talesthat tell of the brave knights and fair ladies of King Arthur’s Court.Many times, since Sir Thomas Malory wrote his book, have thesestories been told again to old and young, but perhaps never beforehave they been told to the children so simply as in this little book.Mary MacGregor.

Matt wrote this story in 1977 as a sophomore in high school. He picked the topic to get points for creativity and improve his chances for a better grade. He got a B. For him, that was a good grade. He kept the story in a folder until the mid-1990‛s when he started to type it up as a short story to put in a magazine. He never finished. In the back of his mind he wanted it to be a children‛s book.In 2010 Matt asked his old friend Don Huff to help give him pointers. Don gave Matt some good ideas and encouraged him to continue. He was going to have his sons Collin, Dillon and Trevlan illustrate the story. They gave him some great ideas. This further inspired him to continue. His three boys enjoyed the story when it was read to them. Maybe they will read it to their children someday.As the fi nal writing was being fi nished Matt‛s brother Mike, sisterin-law Kathleen, nephew Luke, brother-in-law Paul and good friend Kelly made key contributions to the fi nal effort. May, Matt‛s spouse, patiently let him fi nish the project in a supportive manner. A goal of Matt‛s is to deliver a copy of this book to his two High School English teachers who graded his English paper.Matt learned a lot during the process of turning the original homework assignment into a children‛s book. With the help of Don and others, he learned about the power of friendship, with patience and persistence to make progress. This story is more than just a sidewalk journal, it is a refl ection on life, and speaks to that through the eyes of a sidewalk. This story is for all of us, not just our children, read it and see what it tells you.

On a summer day nearly twelve hundred years ago, three ships with bright red sails drew near to one of the little ports of the Dorset coast in the south of England.The townsfolk saw the ships, and paying no heed to the bright sails, said carelessly one to another, 'The merchantmen will be in port to-day.' And the harbour-master gathered together a few of his men and hastened to the quay. For he, too, had seen the ships, and, as in duty bound, he went to meet them, to demand from the captains the port taxes which were lawfully due to the king.But townsfolk and harbour-master alike had made a grievous mistake that summer day. For, as they soon discovered to their cost, and as the red sails might have forewarned them, the three ships were no peaceful merchantmen.No sooner had the vessels drawn up along the quay than a wild, strange-looking crew sprang to the shore, drew their swords, and speedily slew the harbour-master and his few unarmed followers. They then entered the town, plundering and burning the houses of all, both rich and poor. Leaving the little town in ruins, the strange crew, dragging their booty with them, marched down again to the quay. There they embarked, and without delay sailed away out to sea. Perhaps you have already guessed that the strange crew was a Viking band, that the three ships were Viking ships. So, indeed, they were, and this summer day in the year seven hundred and eighty-nine was the first time that the wild Northmen had been seen in England, or in any part of Europe where the 'White Christ' was worshipped.But it was not long ere the bright-coloured Viking sails grew to be dreaded in England and also on the Continent. Their very appearance struck terror into the hearts of all men. Monks and armed men alike learned to flee dismayed before the fierceness of the wrath, the violence of the blows, of these foes who had come upon them from the distant North.As the months and years passed, Viking bands, not with three ships alone, but with large fleets, came to invade and harry the land. Leaving their vessels to be guarded by a third of their number, the others marched into the open country to plunder the inhabitants. Should these venture to defend their goods, the Vikings did not hesitate to slay them or to carry them off as slaves...

This version of Bunyan's Classic Christian allegory is adapted for young children and is very effective as a short but entertaining morality tale. It tells the story of a Christian pilgrim on his journey along the 'straight and narrow' road. Along the route he encounters such characters as 'Obstinate', 'Pliable', 'Hopeful', and 'Goodwill', and passes the 'Slough of Despond' and 'Vanity Fair'. His is briefly imprisoned at 'Doubting Castle', the domicile of 'Giant Despair' before escaping and continuing on his journey to the 'celestial city.'