The Brimming Cup

And there, underneath all this fluttering and tossing and differences,

there were your legs going on just as dumb and steady as ever, stodge,

stodge, stodge! She looked down at them with interest and appreciation

of their faithful, dutiful service, and with affection at the rubber

boots. She owed those to Mother. Paul had scared her so, when he said,

so stone-wally, the way Paul always spoke as if that settled everything,

that none of the little girls at school wore rubber boots, and he

thought Elly oughtn't to be allowed to look so queer. It made him almost

ashamed of his sister, he said. But Mother had somehow . . . what had

she said to fix it? . . . oh well, something or other that left her her

rubber boots and yet Paul wasn't mad any more.

And what could she do without rubber boots, when she wanted to wade

through a brook, like this one, and the brooks were as they were now,

all running spang full to the very edge with snow-water, the way this

one did? Oo . . . Ooh . . . Ooh! how queer it did feel, to be standing most

up to your knees this way, with the current curling by, all cold and

snaky, feeling the fast-going water making your boot-legs shake like

Aunt Hetty's old cheeks when she laughed, and yet your feet as dry

inside! How could they feel as cold as that, without being wet, as

though they were magicked? That was a real difference, even more than

the wind cool inside your hair and the sun warm on the outside; or your

hair tied tight at one end and all wobbly loose at the other. But this

wasn't a nice difference. It didn't add up to make a nice feeling, but a

sort of queer one, and if she stood there another minute, staring down

into that swirly, snatchy water, she'd fall right over into it . . . it

seemed to be snatching at her! Oh gracious! This wasn't much better!

on the squelchy dead grass of the meadow that looked like real ground

and yet you sank right into it. Oh, it was horridly soft, like

touching the hand of that new man that had come to live with the old

gentleman next door. She must hurry as fast as she could . . . it felt as

though it was sucking at her feet, trying to pull her down altogether

like the girl with the red shoes, and she didn't have any loaves of

bread to throw down to step on . . .

Well, there! this was better, as the ground started uphill. There was

firm ground under her feet. Yes, not mud, nor soaked, flabby

meadow-land, but solid earth, solid, solid! She stamped on it with

delight. It was just as nice to have solid things very solid, as it

was to have floaty things like clouds very floaty. What was horrid was

to have a thing that looked solid, and yet was all soft, like gelatine

pudding when you touched it.