Annie Roe Carr

“ The big Chicago stores appealed to her just as much as to any country girl who ever fell under their charm. In the Windy City the department stores—that mammoth of modern commerce—is developed to the highest degree.
It was like wandering through an Alladin's Palace for Nan to walk about Wilson-Meadows, Galsig-Wheelwrights, or any of the other big stores. And it was because she was so much interested in what she saw, that she wandered one day away from her friends and found herself in the jewelry department, where the French novelties loaded the trays and were displayed in the cases. ”

“ Bess was indignant all over again. “There I was, minding my own business, thinking nice thoughts, and having quite a perfect time. No one was farther from my concern than she. And what happens? She walks right into me, pushes me aside, never begs my pardon, and presents her passport first.”
“Then what did you do?” Laura asked. She was as amused as Nan.
“What could I do?” Bess inquired sharply. “I couldn’t fight with her there in front of all those people. She had the advantage and knew it. She’s the most unfair person I’ve ever come across. I hate her!” ”

“ He jumps up from the ground, pulls his arm back, and before the bull has had a chance to recover from his surprise, that fighter is, with one mighty thrust, plunging the spear straight through the bull’s heart.
There, it’s over now. The fighter has fought the fight that will surely bring him the trophy, a pair of little gold ears. The throng, wild with excitement, throws hats, scarfs, pillows, everything loose that it can lay its hands on into the ring as the hero of the hour slowly walks around and bows with arms thrown out wide as though to embrace the whole cheering multitude. ”

“ To illustrate that "variety is the spice of life," so she said, Laura had just followed some ice cream with a sour pickle, when a footstep neared the door and a stern voice commanded them to open it.
"Linda," whispered Grace to Bess, who was nearest her, while Laura said in a perfectly audible though subdued voice:
"You can just go about your business, you essence of meanness."
"You needn't think you can work that trick on us twice," added Grace.
"Don't judge our intellects by your own," scoffed Rhoda. "You must think we were born yesterday." ”

“ Another flash of lightning revealed his identity to the girls.
"Walter! Oh, Walter! He will be killed!" shrieked Grace.
Nan Sherwood leaped a pace in advance as though she would go, afoot as she was, to his rescue. Bess covered her face with her hands. Rhoda shouted in so ear-piercing a tone that the men at the corral heard her:
"Save him! Don't let him go under, boys! Daddy will never forgive you if Walter is hurt." ”

“ A boy can be so much more help than a girl.”
“For shame!” cried her mother, laughing. “Do you dare admit a boy is smarter than a girl, Nan?”
“Not smarter. Only better able to do any kind of work, I guess. They wouldn't let me work in the file shop, or drive a grocery wagon.”
“Goodness! Listen to the child!” gasped Mrs. Sherwood. “I should hope not! Why, honey, is your mind running continually on such dreadful things? I am afraid your father and I allow you to hear us talk too frequently about family matters. You must not assume the family's burdens at your age.” ”

“ The fishing boats from Freeling were driving in toward the inlet, too. Wise boatmen saw the promise of “dirty weather.” Not so Nan and Bess. The tang of the spray on their lips, the wind blowing their braids and freshening the roses in their cheeks, the caress of it on their bare arms and necks, the excitement of sitting in the pitching canoe—all delighted and charmed the girls. ”

“ The others laughed at that.
"Oh, you girls!" said Walter. "To hear you talk, one would think you were hounded like slaves at Lakeview Hall. You should have such a strict teacher as my tutor, for instance. He's the fellow for driving one. He says he'll have me ready for college in two years; but if he does, I know I shall feel as stuffed as a Strasburg goose."
"This learning so much that one will be glad to forget when one grows up," sighed Bess, "is an awful waste of time."
"Why, Bess!" cried Grace Mason, "don't you ever expect to read or write or spell or cipher when you grow up?" ”