“Well, Hilda, of course they are! Who ever heard of washing clothes in dry water? Come on! We needn’t splash much, if we’re careful. Yes, I really think we ought to do it. You know she didn’t want to go and leave her clothes in the water. Perhaps they would get rancid, or mildewed, or something.”
“I don’t believe I want to,” objected Hilda. “Ugh! think of putting your hands into that messy water! I wouldn’t do it for anything!” peering into the tub disgustedly.
“It doesn’t look very—appetising,” said Cricket, hesitating for a word. “But see! here’s the wringer on this tub. She was ready to wring them out. That’s fun, anyway. We can fish up the things with this stick, and poke them in, and turn the handle and they come out dry. Then we could iron them, and they’ll be all done when she comes home.”
Hilda still looked doubtful about this form of amusement, and, with her ruffled cap very much to one side, she silently watched Cricket experiment with a stick.
“These clothes are the funniest! They don’t seem to have any ends; they’re all muddly,” she said, fishing, vainly, to bring something out of the wet mass. “Oh, I see! They’re sheets,” bringing one up slowly. “Shouldn’t you think it was for a giant’s bed? Look!” raising the sheet on the stick as far up as she could stretch, while some of its slippery folds still lay in the water. “Doesn’t it make a good banner?” waving it slightly, to and fro.
“Look out, Cricket! you’re spattering me! Ow! look out!” and Hilda dodged hastily, for the big banner overbalanced itself, and the heavy sheet fell, with a splash, outside the tub on the floor.
“Just like me!” lamented Cricket. “Oh, Hilda, pick up the baby! she’ll be drowned in all this water. How can I get this thing up?” struggling with the stick to raise the unwieldy mass. This proving impossible, she picked it up in her arms, getting herself delightfully wet, and bundled it back into the tub.
“Your dress is a perfect mess,” remarked Hilda, who had put the baby on the table, and was sitting on a chair beside it, with her feet tucked under her, to get out of the way of the water.
“I know it,” said Cricket, cheerfully. “Can’t help it. Hilda, you’ll have to sit there till the water dries on the floor, for there isn’t anything to wipe it up with. Anyway, I’ve found the end of this sheet, now, and I’m going to wring it. Isn’t this fun! It’s just like a hand-organ;” and Cricket turned the handle gaily.
It was fun till the heavy folds were suddenly all drawn up in a bunch in the wringer, and the machine stuck.