Looking back upon it, the little Kentucky town seemed to blossom for Celia like the rose, one broad expanse of sloping lawns bordered with flower beds and shaded by quiet trees, elms and maples, brightly green with young leaflets and dark with cedars and pines, as it was on the day when she stood on the vine-covered veranda of her mother's home, surrounded by friends come to say good-by. Jane Whitcomb kissed her cheek as she tied the strings of her big poke bonnet under her chin. "I hope you will be happy out theah, Celia," she said; "but if it was me and I had to go, I wouldn't. You couldn't get me to take such risks. Wild horses couldn't. All them whut wants to go West to grow up with the country can go, but the South is plenty good enough fo' me." "Fo' me, too," sighed Celia, homesickness full upon her with the parting hour. "It's Seth makes me go. Accordin' to him, the West is the futuah country. He has found a place wheah they ah goin' to build a Magic City, he says. He's goin' to maik a fortune fo' me out theah, he says, in the West." "Growin' up with the country," interrupted Sarah Simpson, tying a bouquet of flowers she had brought for Celia with a narrow ribbon of delicate blue. "Yes," admitted Celia, "growing up with the country." Sarah handed her the flowers. "It's my opinion," concluded she, "that it's the fools, beggin' youah pahdon, whut's goin' out theah to grow up with the country, and the wise peepul whut's stayin' at home and advisin' of 'em to go." Celia shuddered. "I'm ha'f afraid to go," she said. "They say the wind blows all the time out theah. They say it nevah quits blowin'." "'Taint laik as if you wus goin' to be alone out theah," comforted Mansy Storm, who was busy putting away a little cake she had made with her own hands for Celia's lunch basket. "Youah husband will be out theah." She closed the lid down and raised her head brightly. "Whut diffunce does it maik?" she asked, "how ha'd the wind blows if you've got youah husband?" Lucy Brown flipped a speck of dust from the hem of Celia's travelling dress. "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!"