On Anne's birthday they were tripping lightly down it, keeping eyes and ears alert amid all their chatter, for Miss Stacy had told them that they must soon write a composition on "A Winter's Walk in the Woods," and it behooved them to be observant.
"Just think, Diana, I'm thirteen years old today," remarked Anne in an awed voice.

"I can scarcely realize that I'm in my teens.

When I woke this morning it seemed to me that everything must be different.

You've been thirteen for a month, so I suppose it doesn't seem such a novelty to you as it does to me.

It makes life seem so much more interesting.
In two more years I'll be really grown up.