That night in my little low bed, long after Lizzie was asleep, I wept bitterly, wondering what made Anna so unkind, and why people called me crazy.

I knew I looked like other children, and I thought I acted like them, too; unless, indeed, I climbed more trees, tore more dresses, and burst off more hooks.
But to return to the party.

After a time I thought that Mr.Ashmore's eyes went over admiringly to Carrie more frequently than was necessary, and for once I regretted that she was so pretty.

Ere long, Mr.Ashmore, too, went over, and immediately there ensued between himself and Carrie a lively conversation, in which she adroitly managed to let him know that she had been three years at school in Albany.

The next thing that I saw was that he took from her curls a rosebud and appropriated it to his buttonhole.