But the very moment of their parting Vreni summoned him back once more, and she showed suddenly a wholly changed and despairing face: "Nothing, after all, can come of our plans," she then said, weeping hard, "because I had forgotten I had no Sunday shoes any more. Even yesterday I had to put on these clumsy ones going to town, and I don't know where to find a pair I could wear." Sali stood undecided and amazed. "No shoes?" he repeated after her. "In that case you'll have to go in these." "But no, no," she remonstrated. "In these I should never be able to dance." "Well, all we can do then is to buy new ones," said Sali in a matter-of-fact tone. "Where and what with?" asked Vreni. "Why, in Seldwyla, where they have shoe stores enough. And money I shall have in less than two hours." "But, Sali, I cannot accompany you to all these shoe stores, and then there will not be money enough for all the other things as well." "It must. And I will buy the shoes for you and bring them along to-morrow." "Oh, but, you silly, they would not fit me." "Then give me an old shoe of yours to take along, or, stop, better still, I will take your measure. Surely that will not be very difficult." "Take my measure, of course. I never thought of that. Come, come, I will find you a bit of tape." Then she sat down once more on the hearth, turned her skirt somewhat up and slipped her shoe off, and the little foot showed, from yesterday's excursion to town, yet covered with a white stocking. Sali knelt down, and then took, as well as he was able, the measure, using the tape daintily in encompassing the length and width with great care, and tying knots where wanted. "You shoemaker," said Vreni, bending down to him and laughingly flushing in embarrassment. But Sali also reddened, and he held the little foot firmly in the palm of his hand, really longer than was necessary, so that Vreni at last, blushing still a deeper red, withdrew it, embracing, however, Sali once more stormily and kissing him with ardor, but then telling him hastily to go.