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 stuff, till he was nearly smothered, and got his stockings all wet, and shouted till he couldn't shout another shout? Had he? she cried.

"I suppose I have. Many, many years ago. But wet stockings? Have you got such on your little feet?" he anxiously asked.

Then, though he shrank from contact with anything damp or cold, fearing fresh pangs to himself, he drew off her shoe and felt the moist but now hot, little foot within.

"Child, you're crazy. Never go round like that. Run up to your bathroom and take a hot bath. Then put on everything clean and dry. Don't you know better than to behave as you have done? Didn't your mother have sense"—

There he paused, arrested by the piteous look which came over his guest's bonny face.

"Never mind. Don't cry. I couldn't stand that. It's bad enough to have the gout, and a little girl in the house who doesn't—won't—hasn't changed her stocking—Oh! Ouch! Clear out, can't you? My foot, my foot!" he shouted.