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Updated: May 10, 2025
"Everybody always thinks that Anne is right," she said aloud. "Well, isn't she?" said a voice directly behind her, so near that Amanda jumped up in surprise. "How did you get into the house, Amos Cary!" she exclaimed angrily. "Phew, Carrot-top! What's the matter?" responded Amos teasingly. "Say, Sis, don't cry," he added. "I won't call you 'Carrot-top' again.
"H'm," thought the judge uncomfortably, "I guess she's got some of the Trent old Adam to buck up against." His gaze did not remove from the half-averted head with its sun-crowned, red-gold aureole. "Who'd have thought Sam Lacey's carrot-top could be made over into that?" he mused.
At school, for years, he was known familiarly as "Rufus," "Red-Head," "Carrot-Top," or "Nosey," and at home it was almost as bad. His mother, married at nineteen, was the eldest of a family of nine children, and many of The Boy's aunts and uncles were but a few years his senior, and were his daily, familiar companions. He was the only member of his own generation for a long time.
I always jump when I see a carrot-top." He made this intimate revelation simply, as if the time for a conventional reticence had passed. "They were lookers all right," Ralph Addington went on. "I'd pick the golden blonde, the second from the right." He, too, spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, as though he were selecting a favorite from the front row in the chorus.
He was standing beside my narrow iron bed with his sleeves still rolled up, wiping his arms with a big white towel. He was smiling as he scrubbed at the corners of his nails, as though to make sure they were clean. The nurse on the other side of the bed was also smiling. So was the carrot-top with the loganberry beauty-spot. All I could see, in fact, was smiling faces.
"Say! bein' an heiress without no folks ain't in it with being a carrot-top," said Scorch, grinning. "Don't you think so?" "The folks in the office began getting fresh right away," went on the boy, earnestly. "Some of the girls that run the typewriters was as bad as the Willy-boys, too. They'd come up and try warming their hands over my head, an' all those back-number jokes.
She glanced up at my own carrot-top, and then averted her gaze. "For all of our history our kings have had red hair. On the few occasions when the line has been reduced to a lone queen, as in my case, the red-haired men of the kingdom have striven together in public combat to determine which was most powerful and brave. The winner became the Queen's consort." "And in this case?"
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