until the thunder got so heavy and the lightning so bright that Emily felt she must huddle on the sofa and nurse her courage.
“Aren’t you ever afraid of thunder?” she asked Ilse.
“No, I ain’t afraid of anything except the devil,” said Ilse.
“I thought you didn’t believe in the devil either—Rhoda said you didn’t.”
“Oh, there’s a devil all right, Father says. It’s only God he doesn’t believe in. And if there is a devil and no God to keep him in order, is it any wonder I’m scared of him? Look here, Emily Byrd Starr, I like you—heaps. I’ve always liked you. I knew you’d soon be good and sick of that little, white-livered, lying sneak of a Rhoda Stuart. I never tell lies. Father told me once he’d kill me if he ever caught me telling a lie. I want you for my chum. I’d go to school regular if I could sit with you.”
“All right,” said Emily off-handedly. No more sentimental Rhodian vows of eternal devotion for her. That phase was over.
“And you’ll tell me things—nobody ever tells me things. And let me tell you things—I haven’t anybody to tell things to,” said Ilse. “And you won’t be ashamed of me because my clothes are always queer and because I don’t believe in God?”
“No. But if you knew Father’s God you’d believe in Him.”
“I wouldn’t. Besides, there’s only one God if there is any at all.”
“I don’t know,” said Emily perplexedly. “No, it can’t be like that. Ellen Greene’s God isn’t a bit like Father’s, and neither is Aunt Elizabeth’s. I don’t think I’d like Aunt Elizabeth’s, but He is a dignified God at least, and Ellen’s isn’t. And I’m sure Aunt Laura’s is another one still—nice and kind but not wonderful like Father’s.”
