It was spoken—the poor little speech, at once passionate and despairing as any prayer to God. Then it was that Esther learned that there are silences which are harder to bear than the wildest tumult.
But presently one of the ladies said, very kindly—“Why, I am so sorry, little girl, but you see—er—all the little girls who ride in the car must—er—be dressed in white.”
Esther removed her foot heavily from the step and stood back.
“Oh, look!” cried “Oregon”, leaning from the car. “She wanted to ride in here! In a yellow calico dress and copper-toed shoes!”
Then the band played, the horses pranced and tossed their heads, the flags and banners floated on the breeze, and the beautiful car moved away.
Esther stood looking after it until she heard Mr. Hoover’s voice at her side. “W’y, what a funny little girl! There the car’s gone, an’ she didn’t go an’ git in it, after all! Did anybody ever see sech a funny little girl? After gittin’ up so airly, an’ hurryin’ everybody so for fear she’d be late, an’ a-talkin’ about ridin’ in the Libraty Car for months—an’ then to go an’ not git in it after all!”
Esther turned with a bursting heart. She threw herself passionately into his arms and hid her face on his breast.
“I want to go home,” she sobbed. “Oh, I want to go home!”