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Off they bounded, side by side, through the fragrant spring evening. The red of the western sky touched to brighter rosiness their glowing cheeks, tinted Jean’s wind-blown hair with gold. As they neared the town she shot ahead in a last ambitious spurt, wheeled and faced him as he came up. “Billy! I’ll tell you what let’s do; we’ll make a circus ourselves!” “Well, why don’t you go along, Mrs. Lancaster? Don’t prize babies have attendants?”.
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Conrad
Billy halted and looked up into the threatening sky. His eyes twitched, and he noticed wonderingly that his breath was short and his hand shook on the handle-bar. He dismounted and propped his wheel against the fence; climbed down to the river and sat on a projecting rock, with his feet dangling near the water. “But you may have broken bones—be seriously injured.” “I mix up words that way sometimes, too,” the child excused. “A new kind of hen,” retorted Moses..
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