"What are you doing?"
"Washing Melchisedek. He hunted an hypothetical rat all over the coal cellar, and came out looking like a chimney sweep."
"Well, hurry up. I have something to tell you, something exciting."
"I can't. It is a work of time to get him bleached out again. Come up and talk to me while I scrub."
Allyn clattered up the stairs. He found Cicely kneeling before a pail in which Melchisedek stood upright, a picture of sooty dolefulness, with water trickling from every sodden spike of his coat. The corners of his mouth drooped dejectedly, whether from Cicely's chidings or from the taste of the soap it would be hard to say.
"Pretty little dear; isn't he, Allyn?" she asked, while she scoured away at the tiny paws. "Just my ideal of a dainty lap dog. Melchisedek mustn't go into the coal. No, no!"
Melchisedek make a futile attempt to waggle his dripping tail; it only splattered sadly against the top of the pail, and he gave up that effort in favor of one to climb into Cicely's lap.
"No; Melchisedek must stand on own footies. What is your news, Allyn?"
"Mr. Barrett is here. Called, last night."
"On Babe?"