"Go and put on my India-rubbers."
"No ma'am!--the rocks would cut them to pieces. I have brought my mind down to--my shoes."
"It isn't safe, Fleda; you might see somebody."
"Well ma'am!--But I tell you I am not going to see anybody but the chick-a-dees and the snow-birds, and there is great simplicity of manners prevailing among them."
The shoes were changed, and Hugh and Fleda set forth, lingering awhile however to give a new edge to their hatchet, Fleda turning the grindstone. They mounted then the apple-orchard hill and went a little distance along the edge of the table-land before striking off into the woods. They had stood still a minute to look over the little white valley to the snow-dressed woodland beyond.
"This is better than New York, Hugh," said Fleda.
"I am very glad to hear you say that," said another voice. Fleda turned and started a little to see Mr. Olmney at her side, and congratulated herself instantly on her shoes.
"Mrs. Rossitur told me where you had gone and gave me permission to follow you, but I hardly hoped to overtake you so soon."
"We stopped to sharpen our tools," said Fleda. "We are out on a foraging expedition."
"Will you let me help you?"