"You'll get your pay for this," said the young lady, rubbing away, industriously. "Mother will be back in a minute."
"S'posin' Mr. Kerchey should pop in, jest now!" retorted Sam, grinning. "I'd like to have him ketch you over the wash-tub!"
"I would not care if he did; I am not ashamed of it," replied Sarah. "I'd rather do anything than wash clothes; but when I am about it, I'm not lazy."
She looked beautiful, with her rosy cheeks, brown hair, and fair, full brow, shaded by the plain hood thrown loosely upon her head; her white arms bare, and her hands all covered with the thick, snowy foam of the suds. Sam made some saucy rejoinder, and, laughing, she stepped up to him quickly, with a garment dripping and soapy from the tub. Before he was aware of her design, she had covered his face with it, rubbing vigorously up and down and to and fro, with pleasant malice.
Sam struggled, gasped, and screamed; he tumbled down, and, clawing the disagreeable application from his face, spit like a cat; while Sarah stood over him laughing, and threatening him with another similar experiment.
"There!" exclaimed Sam, waxing angry, "I won't work now, to pay for it! And, if you do that again, I'll——"
Splash went the garment into his face once more, across his eyes, and over his open mouth! It was just as he was getting up from the floor. At that moment Mrs. Royden reappeared in the shed. She could not have chosen a worse time. To see "such actions going on," when there was so much work to be done, was "enough to try the temper of a saint." Her hands must have ached, from boxing Sam's ears; her heart must have ached, with such a storm of passion bursting it.
It seemed with a mighty effort of self-control that she refrained from striking Sarah; but the latter, making no reply to the deep tones of her displeasure, quietly resumed her work, and, burning, palpitating with anger, she returned to finish preparing the children for school.
Ten minutes later, serene from his morning meditations, Father Brighthopes came out of the parlor. His face was full of tranquil joy; but a noise of dire confusion assailed his ear, and he paused upon the threshold.
Lizzie, neatly dressed for school, but smarting and burning under the pain of boxed ears, was marching sulkily out of the sitting-room, with a satchel of books; Willie, rubbing both fists into his red eyes, was crying grievously; and Georgie was walking very straight, with a book under his arm, and his looks downcast, fearful and watchful, as if momently expecting the afflictive dispensation of his mother's hand.