, and, anyhow, she was sure that she would
find Emmy Lou at home when she got there.

But Emmy Lou was not at home, and it being now well on in the afternoon,
Aunt Katie and Aunt Louise and the lady visitor and the cook all started
out in search, while Aunt Cordelia sent the house-boy downtown for Uncle
Charlie. Just as Uncle Charlie arrived--and it was past five o'clock by
then--some of the children of the neighborhood, having found a small boy
living some squares off who confessed to being in the First Reader with
Emmy Lou, arrived also, with the small boy in tow.

"She didn't know 'dog' from 'frog' when she saw 'em," stated the small
boy, with the derision of superior ability, "an' teacher, she told her
to stay after school. She was settin' there in her desk when school let
out, Emmy Lou was."

But a big girl of the neighborhood objected. "Her teacher went home the
minute school was out," she declared. "Isn't the new lady, Mrs. Samuels,
your teacher?" this to the small boy. "Well, her daughter, Lettie, she's
in my room, and she was sick, and her mother came up to our room and
took her home. Our teacher, she went down and dismissed the
First-Readers."

"I don't care if she did," retorted the small boy. "I reckon I saw Emmy
Lou settin' there when we come away."

Aunt Cordelia, pale and tearful, clutched Uncle Charlie's arm. "Then
she's there, Brother Charlie, locked up in that dreadful place--my
precious baby----"

"Pshaw!" said Uncle Charlie.

But Aunt Cordelia was wringing her hands. "You don't know Emmy Lou,
Charlie. If she was told to stay, she has stayed. She's locked up in
that dreadful place. What shall we do, my baby, my precious baby----"

Aunt Katie was in tears, Aunt Louise in tears, the cook in loud
lamentation, Aunt Cordelia fast verging upon hysteria.

The small boy from the First Reader, legs apart, hands in knickerbocker
pockets, gazed at the crowd of irresolute elders with scornful wonder.
"What you wanter do," stated the small boy, "is find Uncle Michael; he
keeps the keys. He went past my house a while ago, going home. He lives
in Rose Lane Alley. 'Taint much outer my way," condescendingly; "I'll
take you there." And meekly they followed in his footsteps.

It was dark when a motley throng of uncle, aunties, visiting lady,
neighbors, and children went climbing the cavernous, echoing stairway of
the dark school building behind the toiling figure of the skeptical
Uncle Michael, lantern in ha