“What’s the matter, Neale?” demanded Agnes, suspecting a joke.
“This kid’ll be the death of me, girls,” declared Neale, still chuckling. “I took along a piece of soap with the towels and told Sammy to see if he couldn’t get some of the dust and grime off his face and hands. Cricky! I never knew a kid could get so much dirt on him between breakfast and noontime.”
“Well, he looks clean now,” said Ruth, kindly, seeing that Sammy was not very happy because of Neale’s fun.
“I guess he is,” Neale chuckled. “I said to him, ‘Sammy, did you scrub your hands good?’ And he said, ‘Sure!’ ‘And wash your face?’ ‘Yep,’ he answered. And then I remembered the part of his anatomy that a kid usually forgets is hitched to him. ‘How about your ears?’ I asked him. And what do you s’pose he said?”
“I couldn’t even guess,” giggled Agnes. “What?”
“Why, Sammy said: ‘I washed the one that’s next to Aggie when I’m sitting in the car. You needn’t tell her ‘bout the other one,’” and Neale O’Neil burst into laughter again—as did all the others, save Sammy himself.
It was Sammy trying to turn the current of conversation from his ears, who discovered the continued absence of the two little girls.
“Where’s Tess and Dot?” he inquired.
“Picking flowers,” said Agnes, promptly.
“But, goodness!” added Ruth, “they have been picking them a long time. Ever since you boys went for your swim. They must have gathered a bushel.”