"And what was the story?" asked Uncle Charlie. It might afford a clue.
Maud volunteered it. "The little girl's mother said to her, 'Don't.' And her name was Harryminta. And when she got back from doing what she was told not to do, her mother was waiting for her at the door. 'Whose little girl is this?' And Harryminta said, 'Why, it's your little girl.' But her mother shook her head. 'Not my little girl at all. My little girl is a good little girl.' And shut the door."
"Talk about your coincidence," said Uncle Charlie afterward. "Talk about your Nemesis and such!"
For as the group came along the street—the Dawkins family, Uncle Charlie, and Emmy Lou—and turned in at the gate, Aunt Cordelia flung the front door open. Aunt Katie and Aunt Louise were behind her. They had really just missed Emmy Lou.
"Whose little girl is this?" said Aunt Cordelia, severely. But not going as far as the mother of Araminta she did not shut the door. Instead, Sarah explained.
"Half an hour ago by the clock——" Sarah began.
They led her into the hall, and Aunt Cordelia lifted her up on the marble slab of the pier table. Aunt Cordelia's admonitions and mandates came from the heart. "Open your mouth and speak out and tell me what's the matter?"
Emmy Lou opened her mouth, and in the act, though visibly against her stoutest endeavor even to an alarming accession of pink to her face, ominously and unmistakably—whooped; the same followed on her part by the full horror of comprehension, and then by a wail.
For with that whoop the worst had happened. As with the little boys and girls in Bob's dire category of naughty little boys and girls, her sin had found her out indeed.
"I'm coming to pieces," wailed their terrified Emmy Lou, "because I didn't mind."