Those muddy ankles and petticoats are not fit to be seen--there, now you are sweeping the pavement.

Have you no medium?
One would think you had never worn a gown in your life before!" Poor Ethel stepped on before with mud-encrusted heels, and her father speaking sharply in the weariness and soreness of his heart; her draggle-tailed petticoats weighing down at once her missionary projects at Cocksmoor, and her tender visions of comforting her widowed father; her heart was full to overflowing, and where was the mother to hear her troubles?
She opened the hall door, and would have rushed upstairs, but nurse happened to be crossing the hall.

"Miss Ethel! Miss Ethel, you aren't going up with them boots on! I do declare you are just like one of the boys.

And your frock!" Ethel sat submissively down on the lowest step, and pulled off her boots.

As she did so, her father and brother came in--the former desiring Richard to come with him to the study, and write a note for him.