“Perhaps they’re sour,” said Elizabeth Ann aloud.
She was walking behind Roger, stepping into the footprints his rubber boots left. And she noticed that the heel of one of his boots seemed to be leaking.
“Roger, did you know your boot leaks?” she asked, before she stopped to think.
Roger nodded, without turning.
“They’re old,” he said. “I may get a new pair for Christmas. But the Bostwicks are so cross about the cow, I may not get anything for Christmas this year.”
“I don’t think you left the corncrib door open,” said Elizabeth Ann for the fiftieth time.
“I’d tell you if I had really left it open,” Roger answered. “I know I didn’t. But there’s no way to prove it.”
He tramped on moodily, and Elizabeth Ann, who found it hard going through the soft sticky snow, began to feel tired. She didn’t want to bother Roger, but at last she thought she must ask a question.
“What time do you suppose it is, Roger?” she asked. “Is it much further to the piece of woods you remember?”
Roger stopped and looked at her anxiously.