At the age of thirty Kate Swift was not known in Winesburg as a pretty woman.  Her complexion was not good and her face was covered with blotches that indicated ill health.  Alone in the night in the winter streets she was lovely.  Her back was straight, her shoulders square, and her features were as the features of a tiny goddess on a pedestal in a garden in the dim light of a summer evening.

During the afternoon the school teacher had been to see Doctor Welling concerning her health.  The doctor had scolded her and had declared she was in danger of losing her hearing.  It was foolish for Kate Swift to be abroad in the storm, foolish and perhaps dangerous.

The woman in the streets did not remember the words of the doctor and would not have turned back had she remembered.  She was very cold but after walking for five minutes no longer minded the cold.  First she went to the end of her own street and then across a pair of hay scales set in the ground before a feed barn and into Trunion Pike.  Along Trunion Pike she went to Ned Winters’ barn and turning east followed a street of low frame houses that led over Gospel Hill and into Sucker Road that ran down a shallow valley past Ike Smead’s chicken farm to Waterworks Pond.  As she went along, the bold, excited mood that had driven her out of doors passed and then returned again.

There was something biting and forbidding in the character of Kate Swift.  Everyone felt it.  In the schoolroom she was silent, cold, and stern, and yet in an odd way very close to her pupils.  Once in a long while something seemed to have come over her and she was happy.  All of the children in the schoolroom felt the effect of her happiness.  For a time they did not work but sat back in their chairs and looked at her.

With hands clasped behind her back the school teacher walked up and down in the schoolroom and talked very rapidly.  It did not seem to matter what subject came into her mind.  Once she talked to the children of Charles Lamb and made up strange, intimate little stories concerning the life of the dead writer.  The stories were told with the air of one who had lived in a house with Charles Lamb and knew all the secrets of his private life.  The children were somewhat confused, thinking Charles Lamb must be someone who had once lived in Winesburg.

On another occasion the teacher talked to the children of Benvenuto Cellini.  That time they laughed.  What a bragging, blustering, brave, lovable fellow she made of the old artist!  Concerning him also she invented anecdotes.  There was one of a German music teacher who had a room above Cellini’s lodgings in the city of Milan that made the boys guffaw.  Sugars McNutts, a fat boy with red cheeks, laughed so hard that he became dizzy and fell off his seat and Kate Swift laughed with him.  Then suddenly she became again cold and stern.