As she opened it she called, "Edna!" in a subdued, awed voice.
Edna put her fair head through the door leading to the sitting-room.
There the family and the "company" were evidently resting and talking.
"What yer want, Betty?" she asked curiously.
"Come right here, Edna Emmit," returned Betty seriously.
Edna closed the door behind her and approached cautiously.
"What's up?"
"Nothin's up, Edna Emmit, but you're the most religious, and I've chose you for the funeral of Tinkey Emmit. Come right along with a towel and our big candy box and meet me under the big tree behind the barn. Mum's the word, Edna. This is a sad time, an' I don't want the whole family lookin' on. You understand?"
Edna was only two years younger than Betty, but she was born with a bump of reverence for her "next sister" and all her doings.
"All right, Betty, I'll be there," she answered respectfully, at once climbing on a kitchen chair, to get the much prized candy box, that had been treasured since it was emptied of its goodies last Christmas.