Eleanor H. Porter

“ She was tired and sick of petty details of daily living. They were so petty, so small, so insignificant, so trivial! As if there were no one else in the house who could tell whether or not May should wear her rubbers, or where Gordon's baseball bat was! But there did not seem to be. "Ask your sister Sue." If she heard it once, she heard it a dozen times a day—or, rather, she might have heard it, if she had chanced to be near, as she was to-day. ”

“ She knew she could do it. Had not Signer Bartoni said that never before had a pupil of his played that concerto with such beauty of tone and perfection of execution, such fire, yet with such poise and precision, as she had played it that afternoon? Had he not told her, after the concert was over, that it would be a "pi-tee" and a "cr-rime" not to give to the world the benefit of her great talent? She must become the great "artiste."
"The great artiste!" With another little thrill of ecstasy she hugged the name to herself.
"Sue! Sister Sue!" It was May's voice calling up the stairway. ”

“ For a minute—for one little minute—she was free. She would be free! And she was going to be free, too! As if all her life, all her glorious life, she was to be tied to her sister's rubbers and her brother's baseball bat! ”