"My grown-up brother's coming," said Hattie, "an' my mamma an' gran'ma an' the rest."
"My Aunt Cordelia has invited the visiting lady next door," said Emmy Lou.
But it was Sadie's hour. "Our minister's coming," said Sadie.
Emmy Lou's part was to weep when Sadie wept, and to point a chubby forefinger skyward when Hattie mentioned the departure from earth of the soldier parent, and to lower that forefinger footward at Sadie's tearful allusion to an untimely grave.
Emmy Lou had but one utterance, and it was brief. She was to advance one foot, stretch forth a hand and say, in the character of orphan for whom no asylum was offered, "We know not where we go." All day, Emmy Lou had been saying it at intervals of half minutes, for fear she might forget.
Meanwhile, it yet lacking a moment or so of two o'clock, the orphaned heroes continued to linger at the gate, awaiting the hour.
"Listen," said Hattie, "I hear music."
There was a church across the street. It was a large church with high steps and a pillared portico, and its doors were open.
"It's a band, and marching," said Hattie.