"Not there, Charlie," Sally said impatiently. "Inside the gate. We don't leave overcoats by the side of the road."
"You didn't say inside," Charlie returned sulkily. "I left it where you said." He opened the gate and cast the offending garment inside. "And these boots—can I take 'em off?"
"No," said Sally sharply, "of course not. If your feet are hot they'll have to stay hot. You can't go in your stocking feet in March."
"I don't see why not," grumbled Charlie. "I could take my stockings off, too."
Sally made no reply to this protest. She took his hand in hers. "Now, run, Charlie. I'm in a hurry."
So Charlie ran as well as a small boy can run in rubber boots and along a path that is just muddy enough to be exceedingly slippery. When they came to the corner that they had to turn to go to Fox's, he was almost crying and Sally was dragging him. They turned the corner quickly and almost ran into Henrietta.
"Oh!" cried Henrietta, startled. "Why, Sally!"
Charlie laughed. "Why didn't you go faster, Sally? Then we might have run into her—plump."
He laughed again, but got no attention from Sally.
"Where's Fox?" she asked.