"I am awfully glad to see you," she said once, in a polite little voice.
He smiled down upon her. "I am kind o' glad to see you, too, Connie."
After a while she said slowly, "I need wings. My feet are numb." And a moment later, "I can not walk any farther."
"It is ten miles to a house," he told her gravely. "I couldn't carry you so far. I'll take you a mile or so, and you will get rested."
"I am not tired, I am cold. And if you carry me I will be colder. You just run along and tell Carol I am all right—"
"Run along! Why, you would freeze."
"Yes, that is what I mean."
"There is a railroad track half a mile over there. Can you make that?"
Connie looked at him pitifully. "I can not even lift my feet. I am utterly stuck. I kept stepping along," she mumbled indistinctly, "and saying, one more,—just one more,—one more,—but the foot would not come up,—and I knew I was stuck."
Her voice trailed away, and she bundled against him and closed her eyes.