“Did you bring home a library book?” asked Eliza, reaching forth for the books under Beth’s arm. “I hope it is something worth while. We can read it aloud.” For the first time, she saw the other bundle under Beth’s arm.
“What is it, Beth?” she asked.
Beth burst into tears. Then with a sudden impulse she opened the bundle and forced it into Eliza’s hands. It was nothing at all formidable—nothing to shed tears over.
“Your old shoes! What are you crying about them for, and what ever possessed you to carry them with you? Were they too valuable to leave at home?”
“I’m crying because I didn’t wish you to know about it, and now you’ve found out.” Beth dried her tears. “I saw how many shoes I was wearing out, and that I always had new ones and you had old patched ones. I thought I’d save. I put on these old ones when I get out of sight of the house and just at the edge of town I put on the good ones again. I’ve always looked nice in school, Adee, and I didn’t wear out the good shoes on the rough road.”
“It’s all right,” said Adee. “But what did you do with your old shoes while you were in school? I do hope you did not set them up on your desk as a decoration.”
Beth knew her own Adee, and accepted this remark as a humorous sort of pleasantry. She laughed, “You know I did not. I hid them under an old log alongside the road. You’re not vexed, Adee?”
Eliza put her arm around the child and drew her close to her as they walked up the hill. “No, I think I’m pleased. Indeed, I am quite sure I am. I’m glad that you think of some one else. But don’t worry about your shoes, I want you to look well in school. If you stand well in your class, and behave yourself nicely, I shall be satisfied. Somehow, I think this is all a little girl need do.”
“It’s all right though to save my shoes this way?”
“Yes, if you wish to. I’ll leave that to you. You may do as you please. It will save me buying a new pair for some time.”