“Your other pair were so full of holes that Aunt Martha said she couldn’t darn them any more and she cut the legs up for stove dusters. You’ve nothing but those two pairs of striped stockings you hate so.”
All the glow and uplift went out of Faith. Her gladness collapsed like a pricked balloon. She sat for a few dismal minutes in silence, facing the consequences of her rash act.
“Oh, Una, I never thought of that,” she said dolefully. “I didn’t stop to think at all.”
The striped stockings were thick, heavy, coarse, ribbed stockings of blue and red which Aunt Martha had knit for Faith in the winter. They were undoubtedly hideous. Faith loathed them as she had never loathed anything before. Wear them she certainly would not. They were still unworn in her bureau drawer.