"I've found two, Fred," he announced. "I've forgotten just how they said use them, but I think it was just to put them on outside. You'd better put one on each cheek, for they are the worst."
"How shall I make them stay?" asked Fred, after trying to balance the smooth, slippery things on his face.
Rob pondered a moment.
"Wet them," he suggested. "That ought to make them stick."
And he crept into bed again, clothes and all, and quite regardless of the mingled dew and dust on his small bare feet.
"I don't see why I had to go and get poisoned," said Fred, as he thoughtfully rubbed his puffy countenance. "Just the last of the time we're to be here, too."
"Say, Fred," asked Rob suddenly, "don't you wish we hadn't found Mr. Muir that day?"
"I should say he found us," said Fred. "But I like him ever so much; don't you?"
"Not very well. He's nice enough, but he's been round all the time. He has been here every single day, and cousin Bess is always playing tennis or going rowing with him, when I want her to do something, and— Hullo! there goes one of your leaves." And Rob carefully replaced it on the reddest part of Fred's face.
"Well," said Fred, "she's always ready to do things for me. Mr. Muir is here ever so much, I know, and somebody has to entertain him; but Mrs. Rogers is generally busy, so I suppose Miss Bess has to do it."