Aunt Cynthy--that was what we called her, her name being Cynthia--never got over her girl's death.

She blamed herself for it.

She had had those fits of going back to the open-for weeks at a time.

The girl oughtn't to have been taken to camp out.

She was never strong, and it was the wrong place and the wrong time of year--all right in August and all wrong in October.
"Well, always after her girl's death Aunt Cynthy was as I knew her, being good to us youngsters as no one else ever was, or could be.