Emmy Lou’s part was to weep when Sadie wept, and to point a chubby forefinger skyward when Hattie mentioned the departure from earth of the soldier parent, and to lower that forefinger footward at Sadie’s tearful allusion to an untimely grave.
Emmy Lou had but one utterance, and it was brief. Emmy Lou was to advance one foot, stretch forth a hand and say, in the character of orphan for whom no asylum was offered, “We know not where we go.”
That very morning, at gray of dawn, Emmy Lou had crept from her own into Aunt Cordelia’s bed, to say it over, for it weighed heavily on her mind, “We know not where we go.”
As Emmy Lou said it the momentous import of the confession fell with explosive relief on the go, as if the relief were great to have reached that point.
It seemed to Aunt Cordelia, however, that the where was the problem in the matter.
Aunt Louise called in from the next room. Aunt Louise had large ideas. The stress, she said, should be laid equally on know not, where, and go.
Since then, all day, Emmy Lou had been saying it at intervals of half minutes, for fear she might forget.
Meanwhile, it yet lacking a moment or so to two o’clock, the orphaned heroines continued to linger at the gate, awaiting the hour.
“Listen,” said Hattie, “I hear music.”
There was a church across the street. The drug-store adjoined it. It was a large church with high steps and a pillared portico, and its doors were open.