The door was flung open and the lad exclaimed: “I’ll tell you what, Sis! Let’s walk to town! It’s glorious weather and Dad told me especially that he wanted us to tramp about the way he did when he was a boy.”
Geraldine pouted. “Oh, Alfred,” she said, “you know I don’t like to walk, and certainly you wouldn’t expect me to wade through snow drifts like a country girl. I do wish I had stayed in the city. When I wanted to go anywhere, all I had to do was ring for Peters and he brought around the car.”
The lad was getting into his great coat, and he said wheelingly:
“I feel like taking a hike today, Sis. Try it once, just to please me, won’t you? Be a good pal.”
Geraldine hesitated. “Well, just this once,” she said. Then Alfred, happening to look down at her daintily shod feet, laughed gaily. “But, my dear girl!” he exclaimed. “You certainly couldn’t walk through snow drifts with those slipper things on. Trot along and put on the hiking shoes that Dad bought for you, and I’ll see if I can unearth some leggins.”
“But those shoes are so heavy,” Geraldine protested, “and I’m sure I don’t know where you could get leggins, whatever they are.”
“Never you mind, Sis, you do as little Alfred asks this once; I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
True to his word, the lad reappeared as soon as the strong hiking shoes were on, and triumphantly he held aloft a pair of warm knitted leggins. “Alfred Morrison,” cried the horrified girl, “do you expect me to wear those ugly things? Why, I’d be the laughing stock of Dorchester if I appeared in thick woolen stockings like those.”
“But, Sister mine, geographically speaking, Dorchester and Sunnyside are so far apart that your exclusive friends are not likely to see you today.”
At last Geraldine stood arrayed in the first pair of heavy shoes and leggins she had ever worn. As they were walking along the sparkling highway, the boy asked, “Who have you been writing to? Dad?”