Maggie held out the baby's tiny foot with a laugh of pride. "Here's a foot for a pair of clogs, Master Monk," she said; "t'wouldn't waste much leather to fashion 'em." Tommie said nothing more, but a week afterwards he beckoned to Maggie with an important air as she went by. "You come here," he said briefly. Maggie went into the stall, and he reached down from a nail a pair of tiny, neatly finished clogs. They had jaunty brass-bound toes, and a row of brass nails all round where the leather joined the wooden sole, and on the instep there gleamed a pair of smart brass clasps with a pattern chased on them. "Fur her," said Tommie as he gave them to Maggie. As he did so the baby stretched out her hands to the bright clasps. "See!" exclaimed the delighted Maggie; "she likes 'em ever so. Oh, Master Monk, how good of yo'!" "Them clasps _is_ oncommon," said Tommie, regarding his work thoughtfully, his blue eyes twinkling with satisfaction, "I cam' at 'em by chance like." Maggie had now taken off her baby's shoe, and fitted the clog on to the soft little foot. "Ain't they bonnie?" she said. The baby leaned forward and, seizing one toe in each hand, rocked herself gently to and fro. Tommie looked on approvingly. "Yo'll find 'em wear well," he said; "they're the best o' leather and the best o' workmanship." After six months more were gone the baby began to walk, and you might hear a sharp little clatter on the pavement, like the sound of some small iron-shod animal. Tommie heard it one morning just as it was Maggie's usual time to pass, and looked out of his stall. There was Maggie coming down the road with a proud smile on her face, and the baby was there too. But not in her mother's arms. No, she was erect on her own small feet, tottering along in the new wooden clogs. "My word!" exclaimed Tommie, his nose wrinkling with gratification; "we'll have to call her Little Clogs noo." It was in this way that Maggie's child became known in the village as "Little Clogs." Not that it was any distinction to wear clogs in Haworth, everyone had them; but the baby's feet were so tiny, and she was so eager to show her new possession, that the clogs were as much noticed as though never before seen. When she stopped in front of some acquaintance, lifted her frock with both hands, and gazed seriously first at her own feet and then up in her friend's face, it was only possible to exclaim in surprise and admiration: "Eh! To be sure. What pretty, pretty clogs baby's gotten!" It was the middle of summer. Baby was just two years old and a month, and the clogs were still glossy and new, when one morning Maggie took the child with her down to Keighley as usual. It was stiflingly hot there, after the cool breeze which blew off the moor on the hillside; the air was thick with smoke and dust, and, as Maggie turned into the alley where she was to leave her child, she felt how close and stuffy it was.