“Get up, William,” said Miss Minerva, “and come with me to the bath-room; I have fixed your bath.”
The child's sleepy eyes popped wide open at this astounding command.
“Ain't this-here Wednesday?” he asked sharply.
“Yes; to-day is Wednesday. Hurry up or your water will get cold.”
“Well, me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln jest washed las' Sat'day. We ain't got to wash no mo' till nex' Sat'day,” he argued.
“Oh, yes,” said his relative; “you must bathe every day.”
“Me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln ain't never wash on a Wednesday sence we's born,” he protested indignantly.
Billy's idea of a bath was taken from the severe weekly scrubbing which Aunt Cindy gave him with a hard washrag, and he felt that he'd rather die at once than have to bathe every day.
He followed his aunt dolefully to the bath-room at the end of the long back-porch of the old-fashioned, one-story house; but once in the big white tub he was delighted.
In fact he stayed in it so long Miss Minerva had to knock on the door and tell him to hurry up and get ready for breakfast.