"Oh, my dolly! My dolly!" cried the little mother, "but she's all wet!"
"What did you expect after such a soaking?" chuckled the boy, "but water'll dry. My coat's wet but it'll dry in this warm air." He took off his coat and spread it out in the sun on the dock.
"And that's what you must do to your doll," said Mary Jane. She loved nothing so much as mothering folks—children, dolls—it didn't matter which just so they needed something done for them. "Here, let me help you and we'll have her fixed in a jiffy."
She sat down on the dock, with the little mother beside her, and began to undress the soaked dolly. "Now we'll take off her dress—so. And then her petticoat—so. And we'll spread 'em all out in the sun—so."
"Why don't you spread 'em on a bush?" asked the boy practically, "that's what I do when I go swimming."
"Here, I'll do it," said his sister, and the shy little brown-eyed girl forgot all about herself and being afraid of strangers in her eagerness to touch the doll's pretty wet clothes.
"Then you do it," agreed Mary Jane. Very carefully she took off stockings, shoes, underclothes, every stitch the doll had on and the little Italian girl spread the things on the bushes in the sunshine.
"You ought to spread the doll too," said Alice, "she's so wet the clothes get wet as soon as you put them back on."
"I'll tell you," suggested Mary Jane jumping up hurriedly, "let's get mother and Uncle Hal to hold it in the sun while we take a ride on the swan boat."
"Y'haf ta have money to ride those boats," replied the boy, "and we ain't got none."