"The lady said 'no mud,'" insisted Michael.
"Then maybe she wasn't a truly lady. Sometimes you see a truly lady in a little gold frame and she never says 'I done it.'"
"How could she?" demanded practical Michael, to whom Jeanne had intrusted the cake of soap, in order that he might lather himself while she rinsed Annie's hair. For this process, Annie sat in the Cinder Pond, whose waters were so placid that, even when the lake outside was exceedingly rough, there were no treacherous waves to trouble small children. Both boys could swim. Jeanne, too, could swim a little, but was too timid to venture into very deep water.
"There," said Michael, returning the precious cake. "Gimme the rag and I'll rub if I got to. Here, Sammy, I'll rub you first."
"Aw, no," protested Sammy, backing away. "Let sister do it—she rubs softer."
The bath lasted a good long time, because, the worst of the agony over, the happy youngsters wished to play in the water. It was only with great difficulty that Jeanne finally coaxed her charges back into their clothes.
"I don't blame you," she mourned, "for hating them. I do wish you had some clean ones."
Mollie was peeling potatoes outside the cabin door, when Jeanne returned home with her spotless family. She was peeling the vegetables wastefully, as usual. Mollie could go everlastingly without things; she couldn't economize or take care of what she had. Or at least she didn't.
"Mollie," said Jeanne, "I've been thinking that I'd like to sew. Could you teach me, do you s'pose?"
"Me? I couldn't sew," laughed Mollie, good-naturedly, her soft fat body shaking as she laughed. "I never did sew. Ma always done all that. I could tie a bow to pin on a hat, maybe, but sew—lordy, I couldn't cut out a handkercher!"