“A wharf,” chuckled Norah to herself. “Bless the dear child! She has a regular little town up in her room, with her houses, and her cars, and her seashores!”
Betsey stopped in her mother’s room and looked hard at the washstand. “Yes, I’ll be very careful,” she said to nobody in particular, and lifted the pitcher out, and poured the white pond-lily bowl nearly full of water. “It’s lovely and cold!” she giggled. “How Mr. Delight will yell!”
Carefully she lifted the basin, and slowly she walked to the back hall. “However am I going to open the door?” puzzled Betsey. But she got no farther, for one of her wrists let down suddenly, and splash! went a great shower of water over the floor, and began running in all directions.
“I should have called Norah,” said Betsey. But she did not sit down and watch the water creep down-stairs. She seized a dry mop, and dried the floor very deftly.
“I’m glad I didn’t break the bowl,” she thought as she squeezed the dry mop (which was now quite a wet one) out of the window. “It’s lucky the back hall isn’t carpeted.” And she started out again.
This time she reached the playroom safely, set the “ocean” on the table by the beach, and knelt down before the big house to help Mrs. Delight ring her shiny telephone.
“Hello, Prudence. What do you say if we go to the seashore?”
“Why, you take my breath away! John and I haven’t any bathing-suits.”
“But suppose William and I see to that?”
“Well, we haven’t hired a cottage.”