The wastes of snow on the hill were ghostly in the moonlight. The stars were piercingly bright.

Betsy returned to her chair, took off her coat and hat, opened her book and forgot the world again.

In silence the three of them looked at the sunset and thought about God.

One strain could call up the quivering expectancy of Christmas Eve, childhood, joy and sadness, the lonely wonder of a star

Do you girls have hope chests?' Lloyd asked. We certainly do.' I don't,' said Betsy. 'My husband and I are going to use paper plates and napkins.' Poor Joe!' Lucky Larry!

You have two numbers in your age when you are ten. It's the beginning of growing up.

Isn't it mysterious to begin a new journal like this? I can run my fingers through the fresh clean pages but I cannot guess what the writing on them will be.