"What are you going to do over there?"

Comfort hesitated. A pink flush came on her face and neck. Her
mother's eyes upon her were sharper than ever. "Matilda said maybe
her Uncle Jared would take us a sleigh-ride to Bolton," she faltered.

"Well," said her mother, "if you're going a sleigh-ride you'd better
take some yarn stockings to pull over your shoes, and wear my fur
tippet. It's most too cold to go sleigh-riding, anyway."

Directly after dinner Comfort went over to Matilda Stebbins's, with
her mother's stone-marten tippet around her neck and the blue yarn
stockings to wear in the sleigh under her arm.

But when she got to the Stebbins's house, Matilda met her at the door
with a crestfallen air. "Only think," said she; "ain't it too bad?
Uncle Jared had to go to Ware to buy the horse, and we can't go to
Bolton."

Comfort looked at her piteously.

"Guess I'd better go home," said she.

But Matilda was gazing at her doubtfully. "Look here," said she.

"What?" said Comfort.

"It ain't mor'n three miles to Bolton. Mother's walked there, and so
has Imogen--"