r down upon the delicate satin couch, when his wife's
housewifely instincts were roused, and she exclaimed:

'No, father. No, not there, when she's so wet, and water spots that
satin so dreadfully.'

'What in thunder shall I do with her? Hold her all night?' Peterkin
demanded, while Tom deliberately picked up the costly Turkey hearth rug,
and throwing it across the couch, said:

'Put her on that.' So Peterkin deposited her upon the rug, hitting her
foot again, and sending her off in a dead faint.

'Oh, she's dead! she's dead! What shall we do?' Mrs. Peterkin cried,
wringing her hands, and walking about excitedly.

'Do?' Peterkin yelled. 'Hold your yawp, and stop floppin' round like a
hen with her head cut off! She ain't dead. She's fainted. Bring some
camfire, or alcohol, or hartshorn, or Pond's Extract, or something for
her to smell.'

'Yes, yes; but where are they?' Mrs. Peterkin moaned, still flopping
around, as her husband had expressed it, while Tom rang the bell and
summoned the maid, to whom he gave directions.

'Bring some camphor or hartshorn,' he said. 'Miss Peterkin has fainted,
and get off the boot as soon as possible. Don't you see how her foot is
swelling?'

This to Peterkin, who made a dive at the boot, which resisted all his
efforts, even after it was unbuttoned. The leather, which was soaked
through, had shrunk so that it was impossible to remove the boot without
cutting it away, and this they commenced to do.

Ann Eliza had recovered her consciousness by this time, and although the
pain was terrible she bore it heroically, as piece after piece of the
boot was removed, together with the silk stocking which left her poor
little swollen foot exposed and bare.

'By Jove, she's plucky!' Tom thought, as he watched the operation and
saw the great drops of sweat on Ann Eliza's forehead and her efforts to
quiet her mother, pretending that it did not hurt so very much. 'Yes,
she's plucky,' and for the first time in his life Tom was conscious of a
feeling of something like respect for Peterkin's red-haired daughter.
'She _has_ a small foot, too; the smallest I ever saw on a woman. I do
believe she wears twos,' he thought, while something about the little
white foot made him think of poor Jack's dead feet, laid under the grass
years ago.

In this softened frame of mind he at last said good-night, although
pressed by Peterkin to stay and dry himself, or at least take a drink as
a preventive against co