"Logan and Whitney said he left early," said Rosalie, "that he told them he would have to walk home."
Uncle Charlie deposited the members of the party at their several homes and then, being the editor of a newspaper, went back downtown.
Emmy Lou, oftener than she could enumerate, had waked in the past to hear him on his return in the late, or, to be exact, the early hours, stop at Aunt Cordelia's door with news that the world would hear the next morning.
She waked at his return tonight. He did more than tap at Aunt Cordelia's door, he went in. Hearing Aunt Cordelia cry out at his words, Emmy Lou went hurriedly pattering in from her adjoining room. As she entered, the door on the opposite side of the room opened and Aunt Louise came in, slipping on her bedroom wrapper.
The light was on and Aunt Cordelia was sitting up in bed with tears running unrestrainedly down her face.
Uncle Charlie, about to explain to Aunt Louise, looked at Emmy Lou and hesitated.
"No, go on," Aunt Cordelia told him. "She is a big girl and must hear these things from now on with the rest of us."
Uncle Charlie, reflective for a moment, seemed to conclude she was right and went on.
"The ship on which Sarah Dawkins crossed foundered on the rocks off the Irish coast in a heavy sea this morning and went to pieces against the cliffs in the sight of shore. The dispatches report only three persons saved, and tell of a cook who went about with pots of coffee, and of a girl named Sarah Dawkins who gathered some children about her and whose voice could be clearly heard by those on shore in the lulls of the storm singing hymns to them to the end."
Something happened to Uncle Charlie's voice. After finding it he went on. "I hurried right home. It's past twelve, Cordelia, but don't you think you had better dress and let me take you up to Mrs. Dawkins at once?"