"That you are—no one will contradict him. But he couldn't know that your clothes were in the bath."
"Yes, he would. If they were so dirty, where else could they be? It's all that 'gustin' funderstorm."
"Thunderstorm!" echoed Marjorie suspiciously. "That was at ten o'clock. What has that got to do with your clothes and the Bishop?"
"Tell you it has. You'd best ask him, if you don't b'lieve me," said Sandy, hurt at her unbelief. "Anyhow, he does know that they was dirty. An' just cos we want to save trouble an' wash 'em ourselves, you're cross an' spiteful. Girls are no good—'cept little uns. What's there to put on? Best be somefink old, cos there's a deal of diggin' to be done."
"I shall stop that digging if you make such a mess of yourselves."
"You'd best not," said David meaningly, from his bed in the further corner. "If you do, you'll be sorry," he said darkly.
END OF CHAPTER SIX.
