An' he wanted it quiet, for he's awful backward about shows.

An' as I'm to go to live with his folks,--at least in a little house on the farm,--I might as well stay here as anywhere, even if I didn't want to, for I can't go there till after frost." "Why not ?" I asked.
"The chills and fever," said she.

"They have it awful down in that valley.

Why, he had a chill while we was bein' married, right at the bridal altar." "You don't say so!" exclaimed Euphemia.

"How dreadful!" "Yes, indeed," said Pomona.