“Here it is, right beside me, Mr. Blake,” answered Miss Leslie. “But it is empty.”
“Might be worse! What you got?–hair-pins, watch? No pocket, I suppose?”
“None; and no watch. Even most of my pins are gone,” replied the girl, and she raised her hand to her loosely coiled hair.
“Well, hold on to what you’ve got left. They may come in for fish-hooks. Let’s see your shoes.”
Miss Leslie slowly thrust a slender little foot just beyond the hem of her draggled white skirt.
“Good Lord!” groaned Blake, “slippers, and high heels at that! How do you expect to walk in those things?”
“I can at least try,” replied the girl, with spirit.
“Hobble! Pass ’em over here, Winnie, my boy.”
The slippers were handed over. Blake took one after the other, and wrenched off the heel close to its base.
“Now you’ve at least got a pair of slippers,” he said, tossing them back to their owner. “Tie them on tight with a couple of your ribbons, if you don’t want to lose them in the mud. Now, Winthrope, what you got beside the knife?”