"Yes," said she, "and such a husband!"
Celia looked wistfully out over the calm and quiet street, basking in the sunlight, peacefully minus a ripple of breeze to break the beauty of it, her large eyes sad.
"I'm afraid of the wind," she complained. "Sto'ms scah me."
And she reiterated:
"I'm afraid of the wind!"
Sarah suddenly ran down the walk on either side of which blossomed old fashioned flowers, Marsh Marigolds, Johnny-Jump-Ups and Brown-Eyed Susans. She stood at the front gate, which swung on its hinges, leaning over it, looking down the road.
"I thoat I heahd the stage," she called back. "Yes. Suah enuf. Heah it is, comin'."
At that Celia's mother, hurrying fearfully out the door, threw her arms around her.
Celia fell to sobbing.
"It's so fah away," she stammered brokenly, between her sobs. "I'm afraid ... to ... go.... It's so fah ... away!"