"You may wear the stocking," offered Billy. "The other one's gone, and the shoes are spoiled. Why, 'Phonse, there isn't anything left of my clothes but my shirt and my blouse and my trousers,—and look at my trousers, will you, all full of holes!"
"What if you didn't have anything left," grumbled 'Phonse. "I've got some shoes and stockings at home, Billy, but that's all. I don't know what dad will do, but I'll catch it, sure."
"Oh, 'Phonse, my mother'll give you some clothes to wear, if we can ever get to my house, but, oh, dear, it is so cold! Which do you want to wear, 'Phonse, my shirt or my white blouse; there's one sleeve burned out of both of 'em, and my waist is all gone."
"I'll take the shirt," 'Phonse decided. "Don't cry, Billy, I'm the one that ought to cry."
"B-but, but I'm s-s-so c-cold, and, oh, dear, I'm going to put on the s-s-stocking if you—you don't want it."
"I do, though," insisted 'Phonse; "give her here. You've got more on than I have, anyway. Come on, Billy, we'll be warmer if we run."
"Only I can't run, and—and—and the s-s-stones h-hurt m-my fee-feet," protested Billy, his teeth chattering.
"Don't be a baby," 'Phonse advised. "Oh, Billy, what if there is a lot of folks at the old fort? We better keep back from the lake. It's too cold here, anyway. Let's sneak around where the bushes grow."
"All right, go ahead, 'Phonse."
Cautiously the boys made their way around the clearing. They were nearly past the old fort grounds when they heard voices.