"It's my boots, sir," she replied. "Full of stones they
are, the way I can hardly walk at all, God help me!"

"Why don't you shake them out?"

"Ah, sure, I couldn't be bothered, sir, for there are so
many holes in the boots that more would get in before I
could take two steps, and an old woman can't be always
fidgeting, God help her!"

There was a little house on one side of the road, and
when the old woman saw this place she brightened up a
little.

"Do you know who lives in that house?" said the
Philosopher.

"I do not," she replied, "but it's a real nice house with
clean windows and a shiny knocker on the door, and
smoke in the chimney--I wonder would herself give me
a cup of tea now if I asked her--A poor old woman walk-
ing the roads on a stick! and maybe a bit of meat, or an
egg perhaps. . "

"You could ask," suggested the Philosopher gently.

"Maybe I will, too," said she, and she sat down by the
road just outside the house and the Philosopher also sat
down.