Betsy did not answer. She was a talker, her family always said, but sometimes when she most wanted to talk she couldn't say a word.

When there are boys you have to worry about how you look, and whether they like you, and why they like another girl better, and whether they're going to ask you to something or other. It's a strain.

She tried to act as though it were nothing to go to the library alone. But her happiness betrayed her. Her smile could not be restrained, and it spread from her tightly pressed mouth, to her round cheeks, almost to the hair ribbons tied in perky bows over her ears.

It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

But perhaps people who liked to write aways made lists! Just for the fun of it.

This was Betsy and Tacy's private corner. Betsy's mother was a great believer in people having private corners, and the piano box was plainly meant to belong to Betsy and Tacy, for it fitted them so snugly.