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Rh had been brought up, seventy years ago, and that was how she meant to bring them up.

"Haven't you got a pair you can lend me, Una?" said poor Faith piteously.

Una shook her head. "No, you know I only have the one black pair. And they're so tight I can hardly get them on. They wouldn't go on you. Neither would my gray ones. Besides, the legs of them are all darned and darned."

"I won't wear those striped stockings," said Faith stubbornly. "The feel of them is even worse than the looks. They make me feel as if my legs were as big as barrels and they're so scratchy."

"Well, I don't know what you're going to do."

"If father was home I'd go and ask him to get me a new pair before the store closes. But he won't be home till too late. I'll ask him Monday—and I won't go to church to-morrow. I'll pretend I'm sick and Aunt Martha'll have to let me stay home."

"That would be acting a lie, Faith," cried Una. "You can't do that. You know it would be dreadful. What would father say if he knew? Don't you remember how he talked to us after mother died and told us we must always be true, no matter what else we failed in. He said we must never tell or act a lie—he said he'd trust us not to. You can't do it, Faith. Just wear the striped stockings. It'll only be for once. Nobody will notice them in church. It isn't like school.