They had read her poem on "Night," which was published in a real paper, and they could not help looking upon her with a deep feeling of respect, tinged a little with awe, that a twelve-year-old girl could write verses good enough to be published.

They had heard Keith's enthusiastic praises of her.
"Betty's a brick!" he had said, telling of several incidents of the house party, especially the picnic at the old mill, when she had gone so far to keep her "sacred promise." "She's the very nicest girl I know," he had added, emphatically, and that was high praise, coming from the particular Keith, who judged all girls by the standard of his mother.
As soon as the trunks were attended to, Mr.Sherman led the way to the carriage, waiting on the other side of the platform.

Hero was given a place beside Walker, and although he sprang up obediently when he was bidden, he eyed his companion suspiciously all the way.

The pony-cart trundled along beside the carriage, the girls calling back and forth to each other, above the rattle of the wheels.
"Oh, isn't Hero the loveliest dog that ever was! But you ought to see our puppy--the cutest thing--nothing but a bunch of soft, woozy curls." ...
"We're in the new house now, you must come over to-morrow." ...

"Mother is going to take us all camping soon.