"Why, Lizzy, dear!" exclaimed Uncle Thomas, to his pretty niece, Miss Walton, as she stepped upon the pavement from her mother's dwelling, one morning in midwinter—"You are not going in this trim?"
"In what trim?" said Lizzy, glancing first at her gloves, then upon her dress, and then placing her hand upon her neck and bosom to feel if all was right there. "Is any thing wrong with my dress, uncle?"
"Just look at your feet."
"At my feet!" And Lizzy's eyes fell to the ground. "I don't see any thing the matter with them."
"Why, child, you have nothing on your feet but paper-soled French lasting boots."
"They have thick soles, uncle."
"Thick! If you call them thick, you will have to find a new term for thinness. Go right back, and put on your leather boots."
"Leather boots!" Lizzy's voice and countenance showed an undisguised amazement.
"Yes, leather boots. You certainly wouldn't think of going out on a day like this without having your feet well protected with leather boots."
"Leather boots! Why, Uncle Thomas!"—and the musical laugh of Miss Walton echoed on the air—"who ever heard of such a thing?"