"Dress that girl up, and she 'd be a raving, tearing beauty," added Tom to Maud in a lower tone as he look her into the parlor under his arm.
Polly heard it and instantly resolved to be as "raving and as tearing" as her means would allow, "just for one night," she said as she peeped over the banisters, glad to see that the dance and the race had taken the "band-boxy" air out of Tom's elegant array.
I deeply regret being obliged to shock the eyes and ears of such of my readers as have a prejudice in favor of pure English by expressions like the above, but, having rashly undertaken to write a little story about Young America, for Young America, I feel bound to depict my honored patrons as faithfully as my limited powers permit.

Otherwise, I must expect the crushing criticism, "Well, I dare say it 's all very prim and proper, but it is n't a bit like us," and never hope to arrive at the distinction of finding the covers of "An Old-Fashioned Girl" the dirtiest in the library.
The friends had a social "cup o' tea" upstairs, which Polly considered the height of luxury, and then each took a mirror and proceeded to prink to her heart's content.

The earnestness with which Polly made her toilet that night was delightful to behold.

Feeling in a daring mood, she released her pretty hair from the braids in which she usually wore it and permitted the curls to display themselves in all their brown abundance, especially several dangerous little ones about the temples and forehead.

The putting on of the rescued collar and cuffs was a task which absorbed her whole mind.