tears did not come readily to Emmy Lou, but just then her eyes
fell upon the handkerchief still held by its exact centre in her hand.
What would The Exhibition do without them?

Then Emmy Lou wept.

Late that afternoon a carriage stopped at a corner upon which a school
building stood. Since his charges were but infantile affairs, the
coloured gentleman on the box thought to expedite matters and drop them
at the corner nearest their homes.

Descending, the coloured gentleman flung open the door, and three little
girls crept forth, three crushed little girls, three limp little girls,
three little girls in a mild kind of mourning.

They came forth timidly. They looked around. They hoped they might reach
their homes unobserved.

There was a crowd up the street. A gathering of people--many people. It
seemed to be at Emmy Lou's gate. Hattie and Sadie lived farther on.

"It must be a fire," said Hattie.

But it wasn't. It was The Exhibition, the Principal, and Miss Carrie,
and teachers and pupils, and mammas and aunties and Uncle Charlie.

"An' gran'ma--" said Hattie.

"And the visiting lady--" said Emmy Lou.

"And our minister," said Sadie.

The gathering of many people caught sight of them presently, and came to
meet them, three little girls in mild mourning.

The little girls moved slowly, but the crowd moved rapidly.

The gentlemen laughed, Uncle Charlie and the minister and the papa or
two, laughed when they heard, and laughed again, and went on laughing,
they leaned against the fence.

But the ladies could see nothing funny, the mammas, nor Aunt Cordelia.
That mild mourning had been the result of anxious planning and
consultation.

Neither could Miss Carrie. She said they had failed her. She said it in
her deepest tones and used gestures.

Sadie wept, for the sight of Miss Carrie recalled afresh the tears she
should have shed with Histrionic Talent.

The parents and guardians led them home.

Emmy Lou was tired. She was used to a quiet life, and never before had
been in the public eye.

At supper she nodded and mild mourning and all, suddenly Emmy Lou
collapsed and fell asleep, her head against her chair.

Uncle Charlie woke her. He stood her up on the chair and held out his
arms. Uncle Charlie meant to carry her as if she were a baby thing again
up to bed.

"Come," said Uncle Charlie.

Emmy Lou stood dazed and flushed, she was not yet quite awake.

Uncle Charlie had caught snatches of school