The processes of the mind of an Emmy Lou, however, if slow, are sound, if we know their premises. There was yet another way by which God could be propitiated, and Jesus, who desired to love her and protect her, reached. On the morning of her third day with her aunties, she inquired about this.
"When is Sunday school?"
They told her. "Today is Saturday. Sunday school is tomorrow."
She took this in. "Will I go to Sunday school?"
"Certainly you will go."
She took this in also. So far it was reassuring, and she moved to the next point, though nobody connected the two inquiries. "There's a little boy next door?"
"Yes," from Aunt Katie, "a little boy with dark and lovely eyes."
"A sweet and gentle little boy," from Aunt Cordelia.
"A little boy named Izzy," from Aunt Louise.
Emmy Lou, looking from auntie to auntie as each spoke, sighed deeply. The rules in life, as she knew it, were holding good. As, for example, was not Aunt Cordelia here for Mamma? And Uncle Charlie for Papa? And the substitute little white bed for her little bed? And the substitute little armchair wherein she was sitting at the moment, for her chair?