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“I was beginning to think one of those automobiles had got you,” she said tartly. “It’s ’most six o’clock.”

“I’m sorry to be so late,” replied Joe, “but it took longer today than it will the next time. I missed some houses and had to go back.”

“Well, I suppose I don’t need to get anxious about you, but——” Aunt Sarah paused, her gaze on his feet. “Joseph Faulkner, look at your boots!”

“Yes, they’re sort of damp, aren’t they?”

“Sort of damp! Land sakes, they’re sopping wet! You go right upstairs this very minute and take them off and change your socks and dry your feet and—and don’t you dare come home tomorrow without those overshoes I told you to get yesterday! First thing I know you’ll be down with pneumonia! Tramping around through the slush with nothing on but a pair of fancy shoes!”

“They’re supposed to be waterproof, Aunt,” said Joe meekly.

“Supposed to be! Maybe they are supposed to be, but they ain’t. Now, don’t stand there arguing, but do as I say, Joseph. I may not be your mother, but I guess I know wet shoes when I see them! And I don’t see why you didn’t get those overshoes like I told you to yesterday.”