"An' Blanche went through the ice just down the trail, and her feet's like to freezin'." Blanche smiled as Corliss piloted her to a stool by the fire, and her stern mouth gave no indication of the pain she was suffering.

He turned away when the Virgin addressed herself to removing the wet footgear, while Bishop went rummaging for socks and moccasins.
"Didn't go in more'n to the ankles," Cornell explained confidentially; "but that's plenty a night like this." Corliss agreed with a nod of the head.
"Spotted your light, and--hem--and so we come.

Don't mind, do you ?" "Why, certainly not--" "No intrudin' ?" Corliss reassured him by laying hand on his shoulder and cordially pressing him to a seat.

Blanche sighed luxuriously.

Her wet stockings were stretched up and already steaming, and her feet basking in the capacious warmth of Bishop's Siwash socks.