“How could you, Bill? Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“Tried to—but it just wasn’t any use. You couldn’t have walked it, anyway—with only one shoe.”
“Oh, yes, I could. But you were sweet to do it, only—”
“Better climb aboard again,” he suggested, ignoring her praise, “we’ve got all of a mile to go before we get to the cabin.”
Dorothy made a gesture of dissent.
“Thanks, old dear. I’m going to walk.”
“Well, if you feel up to it—you take my shoes—I’ll get along fine without them in this mud.”
“I’ll do nothing of the kind. I’ve got a better plan. Stupid of me not to think of it before. Hand over your knife, please.”
Dorothy cut two long strips, six or seven inches wide, from the bottom of her slicker. “I’m going to use these to bind up my feet,” she explained and handed back the knife.
“Wait a minute!”