Henry Handel Richardson

“ Laura had one more glimpse of the children standing hand in hand—even in her trouble Pin did not forget her charges—then a sharp bend in the road hid them from her sight.
She was alone in the capacious body of the coach, alone, and the proud excitement of parting was over. The staunchly repressed tears welled up with a gush, and flinging herself down across the seat she cried bitterly. It was not a childishly irresponsible grief like Pin’s: it was more passionate, and went deeper; and her overloaded feelings were soon relieved. ”

“ The woman did not press Laura further; she whispered something behind her hand to Peter, then searching in her basket found a large, red apple, which she held out with an encouraging nod and smile.
“Here, my dear. Here’s something for you. Don’t cry any more, don’t now. It’ll be all right.”
Laura, who was well aware that she had not shed a tear since the couple entered the coach, coloured deeply, and made a movement, half shy, half unwilling, to put her hands behind her. ”

“ But as she was not used to crying, she missed the moment at which she might have checked herself, and went on shedding tears after they had become a luxury.
“Why, goodness gracious, what’s this?” cried a loud, cheerful and astonished voice, and a fat, rosy face beamed in on Laura. “Why, here’s a little girl in here, cryin’ fit to break ‘er heart. Come, come, my dear, what’s the matter? Don’t cry like that, now don’t.”
The coach had stopped, the door opened and a stout woman climbed in, bearing a big basket, and followed by a young man with straw-coloured whiskers. ”