“And look at thy shoes and stockings,” said Friend Deborah, who had been surveying the three culprits as they stood before her. “What must be the state of thy feet? Will thee ever wash them white again?”
This was too much for Lydia. Her lip had been trembling for some time, and now the thought of red and green and blue feet upset her completely. She broke into loud sobs, and cast herself down upon the roadside grass.
“My foot hurts, my foot hurts, and no one loves me.” And she buried her face in the friendly clover, and cried despairingly.
Sammy was winking hard, and Mary Ellen was biting her lip and digging a hole in the dust with the tip of her strange green and purple shoe.
Alexander’s kind heart melted at the sight.
“Ye cannot have gray heads on green shoulders,” said he; and as Friend Deborah carried the weeping Lydia into the house for a bath and bed, Alexander helped the other two travelers upon a passing wagon and rode with them to Robin Hill.
Lydia and Mary Ellen and Sammy never knew how Mr. Blake laughed when he heard the story. He himself went to see the rug woman, and his visit was so satisfactory that when he left, the rug woman held out her hand, purple this time, and invited him to come again.
“You are a gentleman, sir,” said she, “and you have more than paid for what I lost. Bring your little girl the next time you come.”
But Lydia had no desire to pay that visit.
For a long time, Father’s favorite question was, “Lydia, what color feet do you prefer?” But Lydia could never see anything funny in that joke.