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Updated: May 7, 2025
Ay, it is because of that very home love, and that very eagerness to get back to his home, that he will and does fight like a veteran to get it over. "Gosh! I wish I would find just one guy from Redding!" a seventeen-year-old boy said to me one night as I stood in a Y. M. C. A. hut. He was about the loneliest boy I saw in France. I saw that he needed to smile. He was nothing but a kid, after all.
At last, on account of her ill health, she was released from prison very weak and very pale. Enter seventeen-year-old Sean McBride. Places back against the door. Blue eyes wide. Breathlessly: "They're after Bob Barton and Michael Collins. They've surrounded the Mansion House."
"Suppose I question you if you have no objections." "Fire away." "Where was your sister at midnight last night?" "At home." "Alone? I mean was any one besides your family there?" "Yes," replied Gresham, showing surprise at Carroll's evident knowledge of facts. "Who?" "Evelyn Rogers spent the night with her. Evelyn's a seventeen-year-old kid who has had what I believe you call a crush on my sister.
But before starting he stopped in the shadow of a barn to see that his revolvers were loose in the scabbards and in good working order. Nor did he cross the moonlit open direct, but worked to his destination by a series of tacks that kept him almost all the time in the darkness. The seventeen-year-old sentry was still doing duty outside the prison.
When a friend of his in Warsaw, Poland, in the tobacco and snuff trade, then in high repute with the nobility, needed help with his book-keeping, he sent for the seventeen-year-old lad. Thus it happened that Nicholas Chopin came to Warsaw in 1787. It was a time of unrest, when the nation was struggling for liberty and independence.
I couldn't tell which I was blushing all to myself about, the "perfect flower" he had called me, or the "lovely lily" Alfred had reminded me in his letter that I had been when he left me. Why don't people realise that a seventeen-year-old girl's heart is a sensitive wind-flower that may be shattered by a breath?
He appointed his seventeen-year-old duchess governor and administrator of his lands and lordships in France and Dauphiny under a deed dated September 8, and he made her heiress to all his moveable possessions in the event of his death.
He had a thrilling memory of her as Persis Pomeroy's guest, years ago, an awkward, delightful seventeen-year-old, with her hair in two thick braids, looped up at the neck, and tied with a flaring black bow. He remembered watching her, hearing for the first time the delicious voice with its English accent: "Well, I should say it was indeed!" "Well, I should say it was indeed!"
Her pitiful achievements, her beauty, her French and Spanish, her sober book reading, and her little affectations of fine linen and careful speech, all seemed to crumple to nothing. She seemed again to be the furious, helpless, seventeen-year-old Harriet of the Watertown days, her armour ineffectual against that suave and self-confident presence.
But they had been obliged in various places to pass near where the fighting was going on, and the tender-hearted seventeen-year-old girl had seen such terrible things that she burst into tears as she described them. For us the worst anxiety was over, and our mother recovered her composure.
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