feet. Lida was not thinking about herself or her feet, and was making no bid for sympathy. She held her feet out instinctively to keep them from the wet grass around the tombstone. But Faith and Una were instantly swamped with a wave of pity for her. She looked so cold—so miserable.
"Oh, why are you barefooted such a cold night?" cried Faith. "Your feet must be almost frozen."
"Pretty near," said Lida proudly. "I tell you it was fierce walking up that harbour road."
"Why didn't you put on your shoes and stockings?" asked Una.
"Hain't none to put on. All I had was wore out by the time winter was over," said Lida indifferently.
For a moment Faith stared in horror. This was terrible. Here was a little girl, almost a neighbour, half frozen because she had no shoes or stockings in this cruel spring weather. Impulsive Faith thought of nothing but the dreadfulness of it. In a moment she was pulling off her own shoes and stockings.
"Here, take these and put them right on," she said, forcing them into the hands of the astonished Lida. "Quick now. You'll catch your death of cold. I've got others. Put them right on."
Lida, recovering her wits, snatched at the offered gift, with a sparkle in her dull eyes. Sure she would put them on, and that mighty quick, before any one appeared with authority to recall them. In a minute
