"Fill them with snow for Limpy," suggested one.
"Stick 'em in a tub of ice water and cool 'em off," added another.
"Not much," shouted the one who had taken up the shoes. "I'm going to take them home with me and give them to me brother," and he winked at his companions.
"I want my shoes, Felter! Give them right back to me!" cried Harry, in wild alarm, and he started after the boy, who was making for the door, for the whistle had just blown.
"You'll have to go home barefooted, Limpy," returned Felter, heartlessly. "It's all right, though, the snow will twist your ugly stump into shape, maybe."
"If you don't give me my shoes I'll—I'll kill you," shrieked Harry, flying into a sudden rage, as he saw the boy spring out of his reach into the deep snow.
"What do you want to tease the poor boy in that way for?" demanded Franklin, who had witnessed the whole scene. "He may catch his death of cold if he goes out in the snow in his stocking feet."
"What do I care if he does!" retorted Felter, roughly. "I'd like to know what business this is of yours?" he added with a dark look.
"I won't see the poor boy abused, that's how
