"I don't keer," moaned Clorinda: "I don't keer." "Why don' yer get up?" demanded Victoria. "I'll 'sist yer, I'll 'sist yer," said Dolf, making another sidelong movement. Clorinda endeavored to help herself, but the effort was a failure, and there she lay covered with confusion, for she could not think of giving the real cause of her continued prostration. The truth was she had knocked one high heel from a pair of Mrs. Harrington's French boots, which that lady was not likely to miss before morning; and had sprained her ankle in the process, a very unpleasant situation for a modest and churchgoing darkey to find herself in, late at night, and her lover looking on. "Be yer gwine to lay dar all night!" asked Vic. "I kin't get up, I tell yer," said Clo. "Is yer bones broke?" "Smashed. One of 'em am smashed," answered Clo, ruefully. "No, no; Miss Clory, not as bad as dat," said Dolf; "don't petrificate us wid sich a idee. Jis let me sist yer now." "No, no," cried Clorinda; "wait a minit--my foot--my foot!" "Hev yer hurt it?" demanded Vic; "let me zamine." "It's my ankle; can't yer understand?" "No, I kin't onderstand nothin' 'bout it, only yer makin' a outrageous ole fool o' yerself, and freezin' us to death. Mr. Dolf, 'spozen we go in." "Yer wouldn't desart a sister in distress," said Dolf, dancing about the prostrate form, unable to comprehend why Clo would not permit him to assist her; while she huddled herself in a heap, in true spinster fear of showing her ankles or exposing the borrowed boot. "Now, Clo," cried Victoria, "jis git up; I won't stand dis fooling no longer." "Help me," said Clo; "do help me." "Hain't Mr. Dolf ben a tryin' dese ten minits!" "No, no! Bend down here, Vic. Mr. Dolf, if yer's a gemman I ax yer to shut yer eyes." "My duty is to sarve de fair," said Dolf, turning his back and peeping over his shoulder, very curious to know what could be the difficulty. Clo whispered in Victoria's ear with agonised sharpness, "Dem boots am so high, an' my ankle is guv out, jes ondo de buttons!" A stone might have sympathised with her maidenly distress, but that wicked Victoria burst into absolute shrieks of laughter. "Oh, oh, oh! yer ole fool!" she cried, between her shouts of merriment. "Yer too ole for new fashions--telled yer so!" Clorinda's outraged modesty was forgotten in the fury which Victoria's lack of sympathy caused. "Jis let me git up!" cried she. "I'll fix yer; I'll frizzle dem long beaucatchers like a door mat, an' stamp on 'em." "What am it?" demanded Dolf. As well as she could speak for laughing, Victoria began "She's just choked up her foot in Miss Harrington's high pinercled boots!" "Hush up!" interrupted Clo. "I'll pisen yer if yer don't shut yer impudent mouth." "Ki! ki! ki! oh, laws, I shall die! Ole folks hadn't orter try to be young uns. I've telled yer so, Clo, fifty times," shrieked the yellow maiden; "'tain't no wonder yer snickered, Dolf; borrered feathers! he, he! Vic!"