They carry grass with them, which they ravel up
and pad into their shoes. Into this they put their feet, and then pack
the rest with more grass, tying up the top with a binder. The ropes of
the harness for our dogs are carefully sewed all over with two layers
of flannel in order to make them soft against the dogs' sides. So, as
soon as I could sit down, I started with my trusty knife to rip up the
flannel. Though my fingers were more or less frozen, I was able also
to ravel out the rope, put it into my shoes, and use my wet socks
inside my knickerbockers, where, though damp, they served to break the
wind. Then, tying the narrow strips of flannel together, I bound up
the top of the moccasins, Lapp-fashion, and carried the bandage on up
over my knee, making a ragged though most excellent puttee.
As to the garments I wore, I had opened recently a box of football
clothes I had not seen for twenty years. I had found my old Oxford
University football running shorts and a pair of Richmond Football
Club red, yellow, and black stockings, exactly as I wore them twenty
years ago. These with a flannel shirt and sweater vest were now all I
had left. Coat, hat, gloves, oilskins, everything else, were gone, and
I stood there in that odd costume, exactly as I stood twenty years ago
on a football field, reminding me of the little girl of a friend, who,
when told she was dying, asked to be dressed in her Sunday frock to
go to heaven in.
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