“Ahoy!” he answered. “Well, little lady?” and he leaned out.
“Isn’t it a beautiful morning, Hil,” said Adela, looking up. “Lovely.”
“Why don’t you come down and have a run with me in the woods?”
“For one reason, because I am locked up,” said Hilary. “For another, because I have not made my hands and face acquainted with soap and water since I was aboard the cutter; my hair is full of bits of straw and dead leaves, and my clothes are soaked and shrunken, and muddied and torn. Altogether, I am not fit to be seen.”
“Well, but Hil, dear, why don’t you wash yourself?”
“Because your esteemed friends here do not allow me soap, water, and towel. I say, Addy, if I lower down a piece of string, will you send me a jug of water?”
“Same as I did the milk? Oh, of course!” said the girl laughing.
“All right,” said Hilary; “get it, please.”
He took out his knife, and without hesitation nicked and tore off the hem of one of his sheets, knotted two lengths together, lowered them down, and in turn drew up wash-hand jug, soap, brush and comb, and afterwards a basin, by having it tied up in a towel, and attaching the string to the knots.
Adela seemed to enjoy it all as fun, but she turned serious directly after as she told her old companion how grateful she felt to him for his bravery on the previous day, remarks which made Hilary feel uncomfortable and go away from the window with the excuse that he wanted to attend to his toilet.