Uncle Charlie woke her. He stood her up on the chair and held out his arms. Uncle Charlie meant to carry her as if she were a baby thing again up to bed.
“Come,” said Uncle Charlie.
Emmy Lou stood dazed and flushed, she was not yet quite awake.
Uncle Charlie had caught snatches of school vernacular. “Come,” said he, “suit the action to the word.”
Emmy Lou woke suddenly, the words smiting her ears with ominous import. She thought the hour had come, it was The Exhibition.
She stood stiffly, she advanced a cautious foot, her chubby hand described a careful half circle. Emmy Lou spoke—
“We know not where we go,” said Emmy Lou.
“No more we do,” said Uncle Charlie.