"We shall get into trouble with Mother, Dumpling," was his first remark.
He was right. At that moment the front door opened, and Mrs. Mablethorpe appeared.
"I can only say, Julius," she began at once,—as a matter of fact, no one had invited her to say anything.—"that I am not in the least surprised at anything you may do; but I think"—her voice quavered tearfully—"that you might have had the sense to prevent that child from crawling about in the mud too. Baby, go into the house and ask nurse to give you a bath at once. Your hands and face are black!"
"But I am quite white, Mummy," replied Miss Dumpling soothingly (one soon picked up the habit of speaking soothingly to Mrs. Mablethorpe), "all over the rest of myself. Look, I'll show you!"
Before any one could stop her, the infant detached a stocking from its moorings and rolled it down to her ankle.
"There!" she said triumphantly.
Mrs. Mablethorpe, fearing further enterprise, hurriedly reiterated her ultimatum on the subject of a bath.
"A good hot one," she added.
"The kiddie would do much better to wash her hands and face in cold water," said Mr. Mablethorpe. "What she is covered with is chiefly oil, and hot water will only open her little pores and drive it in."