Not being entirely bereft of prudence, he had discarded boots and stockings and borrowed Tommy Cotton's overalls.

Thus accoutered, bog and marsh and undergrowth had no terrors for him.

Dora was frankly and manifestly miserable.

She followed the others in their peregrinations from pool to pool, clasping her Bible and quarterly tightly and thinking with bitterness of soul of her beloved class where she should be sitting that very moment, before a teacher she adored.
Instead, here she was roaming the woods with those half-wild Cottons, trying to keep her boots clean and her pretty white dress free from rents and stains.

Mirabel had offered the loan of an apron but Dora had scornfully refused.
The trout bit as they always do on Sundays.