heard it all my life,” she answered. “You could speak it if you had always heard it.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” said Ermengarde. “I NEVER could speak it!”
“Why?” inquired Sara, curiously.
Ermengarde shook her head so that the pigtail wobbled.
“You heard me just now,” she said. “I’m always like that. I can’t SAY the words. They’re so queer.”
She paused a moment, and then added with a touch of awe in her voice, “You are CLEVER, aren’t you?”
Sara looked out of the window into the dingy square, where
friends to each other and tell each other things. Emily, look at me. You have the nicest eyes I ever saw—but I wish you could speak.”
She was a child full of imaginings and whimsical thoughts, and one of her fancies was that there would be a great deal of comfort in even pretending that Emily was alive