And your new brown dress is so long they won't show much. Wasn't it lucky Aunt Martha made it big, so you'd have room to grow in it, for all you hated it so when she finished it?"
"I won't wear those stockings," repeated Faith. She uncoiled her bare, white legs from the tombstone and deliberately walked through the wet, cold grass to the bank of snow. Setting her teeth, she stepped upon it and stood there.
"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.
