“Kitty McKoeghany.”
Emmy Lou sat with Hattie. They sat at a front desk. Hattie had plaits; small affairs, perhaps, but tied with ribbons behind each ear. And the part bisecting Hattie’s little head from nape to crown was exact and true. Emmy Lou admired plaits. And she admired the little pink sprigs on Hattie’s dress.
After Hattie and Emmy Lou had sat together a whole day, Hattie took Emmy Lou aside as they were going home, and whispered to her.
“Who’s your mos’ nintimate friend?” was what Emmy Lou understood her to whisper.
Emmy Lou had no idea what a nintimate friend might be. She did not know what to do.
“Haven’t you got one?” demanded Hattie.
Emmy Lou shook her head.
Hattie put her lips close to Emmy Lou’s ear.
“Let’s us be nintimate friends,” said Hattie.