“I think perhaps we had better let Miss Forester go,” said Carrie to Florence; for, though she would not confess it, Susan’s words had influenced her somewhat.
“Nonsense!” retorted her friend. “What harm will a little ducking do her? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Have you got the basin yet?”
“No; but, if worse comes to worst, there’s the bowl.”
“No. I insist on it, that shall not be used. I will have nothing to do with it if it is.”
“Well, well,” said Florence. “But it is next to impossible to procure the tin. I can’t get out myself; and I don’t like to trust any one to buy it.”
Carrie secretly hoped that this difficulty would upset the whole scheme; but she did not know her friend.
A few days later, Florence drew her into their room, and, removing a pillow from the bed, displayed a tin basin under it, which she flourished before her eyes.
“All ready now!” she cried, triumphantly.
“But how did you get it? Did you trust a servant with our secret?” asked Carrie, anxiously.