“What are you doing?” cried Una aghast. “You’ll catch your death of cold, Faith Meredith.”
“I’m trying to,” answered Faith. “I hope I’ll catch a fearful cold and be awful sick to-morrow. Then I won’t be acting a lie. I’m going to stand here as long as I can bear it.”
“But, Faith, you might really die. You might get pneumonia. Please, Faith don’t. Let’s go into the house and get something for your feet. Oh, here’s Jerry. I’m so thankful. Jerry, make Faith get off that snow. Look at her feet.”
“Holy cats! Faith, what are you doing?” demanded Jerry. “Are you crazy?”
“No. Go away!” snapped Faith.
“Then are you punishing yourself for something? It isn’t right, if you are. You’ll be sick.”
“I want to be sick. I’m not punishing myself. Go away.”
“Where’s her shoes and stockings?” asked Jerry of Una.
“She gave them to Lida Marsh.”
“Lida Marsh? What for?”