She felt that in some way, although in what way she could not understand, her going would help them to escape the dreaded poorhouse.
"Don't send Mom Beck with me," she pleaded, when the time came to start.
"You come with me, mothah." Mrs.Sherman had not been past the gate for weeks, but she could not refuse the coaxing hands that clung to hers.
It was a dull, dreary day.

There was a chilling hint of snow in the damp air.

The leaves whirled past them with a mournful rustling.
Mrs.Sherman turned up the collar of Lloyd's cloak.
"You must have a new one soon," she said, with a sigh.

"Maybe one of mine could be made over for you.

And those poor little shoes! I must think to send to town for a new pair." The walk was over so soon.