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by:
Carolyn Wells
CHAPTER I KITTY'S DINNER "Kitty-Cat Kitty is going away,Going to Grandma's, all summer to stay.And so all the Maynards will weep and will bawl,Till Kitty-Cat Kitty comes home in the fall." This affecting ditty was being sung with great gusto by King and Marjorie, while Kitty, her mood divided between smiles and tears, was quietly appreciative. The very next day, Kitty was to start for...
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Carolyn Wells
THE GREAT HANLON "You may contradict me as flat as a flounder, Eunice, but that won't alter the facts. There is something in telepathy—there is something in mind-reading—" "If you could read my mind, Aunt Abby, you'd drop that subject.For if you keep on, I may say what I think, and—" "Oh, that won't bother me in the least. I know what you think, but your...
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Carolyn Wells
CHAPTER I A WONDERFUL PLAN "Hello, Dolly," said Dotty Rose, over the telephone. "Hello, Dot," responded Dolly Fayre. "What you want?" "Oh! I can't tell you this way. Come on over, just as quick as you can." "But I haven't finished my Algebra, and it's nearly dinner time, anyway." "No it isn't,—and no matter if it is. Come on, I tell you!...
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Carolyn Wells
THE GIRL NEXT DOOR Summit Avenue was the prettiest street in Berwick. Spacious and comfortable-looking homes stood on either side of it, each in its setting of lawn and shade trees. Most of these showed no dividing fences or hedges, and boundaries were indiscernible in the green velvety sward that swept in a gentle slope to the sidewalk. Of two neighbouring houses, the side windows faced each other...
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Carolyn Wells
CHAPTER I VICKY VAN Victoria Van Allen was the name she signed to her letters and to her cheques, but Vicky Van, as her friends called her, was signed all over her captivating personality, from the top of her dainty, tossing head to the tips of her dainty, dancing feet. I liked her from the first, and if her "small and earlies" were said to be so called because they were timed by the small and...
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Carolyn Wells
The Prophecy Even when Peter Crane was a baby boy, with eyes the color of the chicory flowers that grow by the wayside along New England roads, and hair that rivaled the Blessed Damosel's in being "yellow like ripe corn," he was of an adventurous disposition. His innocent face was never so devoid of guile, his winning smile never so cherubic as when he remarked that he would "jes'...
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