I read somewhere about old Joaquin Miller, the poet of the Sierras.

Know him ?" Anne shook her head, as she combed out her long brown hair, holding one roll with her teeth.
"No, I don't suppose you do," Kit went on happily.

"That's one reason why you and I are going to be fearfully good friends, 'cause you don't know everything in creation.

It seems to me I can't speak of anything at all at home now that Jean doesn't know more about it than I do, or Helen thinks she does, which is worse.

Don't mind me this morning.