the excellence of my shooting apparel. "Those nails are not large
enough," I had said; "nor nearly large enough." But when the boots
came home they struck even me as being too heavy, too metalsome.
"He, he, he," laughed the boot boy as he turned them up for me to
look at. It may therefore be imagined of what nature were the
articles which were thus set out for the evening's dancing.

And then the way in which they were placed! When I saw this the
conviction flew across my mind like a flash of lightning that the
preparation had been made under other eyes than those of the servant.
The heavy big boots were placed so prettily before the chair, and the
strings of each were made to dangle down at the sides, as though just
ready for tying! They seemed to say, the boots did, "Now, make
haste. We at any rate are ready--you cannot say that you were kept
waiting for us." No mere servant's hand had ever enabled a pair of
boots to laugh at one so completely.

But what was I to do? I rushed at the small portmanteau, thinking
that my pumps also might be there. The woman surely could not have
been such a fool as to send me those tons of iron for my evening
wear! But, alas, alas! no pumps were there. There was nothing else
in the way of covering for my feet; not even a pair of slippers.

And now what was I to do? The absolute magnitude of my misfortune
only loomed upon me by degrees. The twenty minutes allowed by that
stern old paterfamilias were already gone and I had done nothing
towards dressing. And indeed it was impossible that I should do
anything that would be of avail. I could not go down to dinner in my
stocking feet, nor could I put on my black dress trousers, over a
pair of mud-painted top-boots. As for those iron-soled horrors--;