The tension demanded relief. Aunt M’randa turned on Tom. “I lay I bus’ yo’ haid open ef yer don’t quit yo’ stan’in’ wi’ yer mouf gapin’ at the trouble yer done made.”
Aunt M’randa was sparring for time.
“Don’ yer worry ’bout dat, honey”—this to Emily Louise—“hit’s jes’ one dese here mistakes in jogaphy, seem like, same es yer tell erbout gettin’ kep’ in foh. Huccome a gen’man like yo’ paw, got bawn y’other side de Ohier River, ’ceptin’ was an acci-dent? Dess tell me dat? But dere’s ’nough quality dis here side de fam’ly to keep yer a good Dem’crat, honey—” and Aunt M’randa, muttering, glared at Tom.
For Emily Louise was gazing into a gulf wider than the river rolling between home—and papa, a gulf called war; nor did Emily Louise know, as Aunt M’randa knew, that it was a baby’s little fists clutching at Aunt Cordelia that had bridged that gulf.
Emily Louise turned away—her papa was that thing for lowered voice and bated breath—her papa—was a Republican.
Then Emily Louise was a Republican also. Hattie said so; Aunt M’randa did not know. At twelve one begins determinedly to face facts.
Yet the very next day Emily Louise made discovery that a greater than her papa had been that thing for lowered tones. She was working upon her weekly composition, and this week the subject was “George Washington.”
Emily Louise had just set forth upon legal cap her opening conclusions upon the matter. She had gone deep into the family annals of George, for, by nature, Emily Louise was thorough, and William had testified that she was conscientious.
“George Washington was a great man and so was his mother.”
Here she paused, pen suspended; for the full meaning of a statement in the history spread before her had suddenly dawned upon her; for that history declared George Washington “a firm advocate for these republican principles.”