Though small in knowledge, Emmy Lou was large in faith. She confessed herself as glad to be a nintimate friend.
When Emmy Lou found that to be a nintimate friend meant to walk about the yard with Hattie’s arm about her, she was glad indeed to be one. Hitherto, at recess, Emmy Lou had known the bitterness of the outcast and the pariah, and had stood around, principally in corners, to avoid being swept off her little feet by the big girls at play, and had gazed upon a paired-off and sufficient-unto-itself world.
“'Let's us be nintimate friends.'”
Hattie seemed to know everything. In all the glory of its newness Emmy Lou brought her Second Reader to school. Hattie was scandalised. She showed her reader soberly encased in a calico cover.
Emmy Lou grew hot. She hid her Reader hastily. Somehow she felt that she had been immodest. The next day Emmy Lou’s Reader came to school discreetly swathed in calico.
Hardly had the Second Reader begun, when one Friday the music man came. And after that he came every Friday and stayed an hour.
