Mrs.Peter Bradbury had contributed two Indian blankets and a hunting-bag, besides an old pair of saddle bags used by her father, one of the early missionary bishops of the northwest, in his travels through the wilderness.

Two fine timber wolf pelts lay on the floor, and of these Kit was specially proud.

She had beguiled them from the treasure store of old Madame Giron, whose husband could still tell with fiery eyes and thrilling tone of how he had killed the animals not a quarter of a mile from the site of Hope College, in the old settler days.
From the cabinet in the Dean's room had come mostly records, old documents carefully framed, and several letters written by the founders themselves.
"You know," Kit said, as she gave a last touch to her exhibit, "of course these are important, but I like the Indian and hunting things best.

I wish I could run away with that double pair of buffalo horns that belonged to Dr.Gleason's granduncle or somebody.

I like them better than anything." A quick rap came on the door, and before Charity could even call "come in" Peggy entered with her usual galaxy behind her, Amy, Norma, and a newcomer from Iowa, Henrietta Jinks, whom the girls had instantly dubbed "the Jinx," because of her infallible habit of everlastingly doing the inopportune thing.
"If it wasn't that her father was a congressman, she'd never get by with it," Amy had said, "but as it is, if you'll just remember that she's been reared on rhetoric and torch-light parades, you can understand that little abrupt way she has.