“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 tomorrow. 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. 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. “She gave them to Lida Marsh.” “Lida Marsh? What for?” “Because Lida had none—and her feet were so cold. And now she wants to be sick so that she won’t have to go to church to-morrow and wear her striped stockings. But, Jerry, she may die.” “Faith,” said Jerry, “get off that ice-bank or I’ll pull you off.” “Pull away,” dared Faith.