Zaidee wasn't sure of anything but that she wanted to get out of her new bath-tub, so she only repeated:
"Please take us out, Mr. Man, and we won't fall in again, ever, 'cause we don't like this white water, truly we don't. There are such funny little snow stones in it. We like really truly water best. Please take us out."
"Was it you turned my spigot?" demanded her jailer, very sternly.
Zaidee quaked. She had forgotten about turning the spigot.
"We won't ever turn it again," she promised, hastily.
"Oh, come, Steve, take the kid out," said the other man.
"Ef it was one of our children they'd get a trouncin', but they belong to some of them city folks down by the beach. Them city children dunno nothin'—can't expect 'em to. Come, young uns," and, in a moment, Zaidee and Helen stood on the planks.
"Sech capers!" grumbled the other man, setting down the dripping little figures he had lifted out. "Hull batch spiled. Now, scoot." And the children hastily scooted, leaving a milky track behind.
They had no idea of the way home, but, as Zaidee was not ready to return yet, that did not trouble her. Once outside of the cheese factory they got leaves and wiped off each other's dripping faces and hair, as best they could.
"My shoes are all soppy," said Helen, tiptoeing along, uncomfortably.