"Oh, Sadie," said Emmy Lou, and there was no exultation in the tones of Emmy Lou's despair. Not that Emmy Lou had much to do--hers was mostly the suiting of the action to some other's word. She was chosen largely because of Hattie and Sadie who had wanted her. And then, too, Emmy Lou's Uncle Charlie was the owner of a newspaper. The Exhibition might get into its columns. Not that Miss Carrie cared for this herself--she was thinking of the good it might do the school. 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. Emmy Lou 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." That very morning, at gray of dawn, Emmy Lou had crept from her own into Aunt Cordelia's bed, to say it over, for it weighed heavily on her mind, "We know not where we go." As Emmy Lou said it the momentous import of the confession fell with explosive relief on the _go_, as if the relief were great to have reached that point. It seemed to Aunt Cordelia, however, that the _where_ was the problem in the matter. Aunt Louise called in from the next room. Aunt Louise had large ideas. The stress, she said, should be laid equally on _know not_, _where_, and _go_. Since then, 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 to two o'clock, the orphaned heroines continued to linger at the gate, awaiting the hour. "Listen," said Hattie, "I hear music." There was a church across the street. The drug-store adjoined it. 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. The orphaned children hurried to the curb. A procession was turning the corner and coming toward them. On either sidewalk crowds of men and boys accompanied it. "It's a funeral," said Sadie, as if she intuitively divined the mournful. Hattie turned with a face of conviction. "I know. It's that big general's funeral; they're bringing him here to bury him with the soldiers." "We'll never see a thing for the crowd," despaired Sadie. Emmy Lou was gazing. "They've got plumes in their hats," she said. "Let's go over on the church steps and see it go by," said Hattie, "it's early." The orphaned children hurried across the street. They climbed the steps. At the top they turned. There were plumes and more, there were flags and swords, and a band led. But at the church with unexpected abruptness the band halted, turned, it fell apart, and the procession came through; it came right on through and up the steps, a line of uniforms and swords on either side from curb to pillar, and halted.