Martha held her little party back long enough to relate the tale of Sammy and the whitewashing.
"An' I told'm," she concluded, "he could walk his little self back, with his little pail o' whitewash, an' his little brush, an' get busy an' keep busy, till every last thing in the place got a good coat. I told'm, 'Don't you leave a thing go free, young man!' so I guess we'll see a thora job this time, or I'm mistaken."
A spotless interior, gleaming, white, proved her surmise correct. Sammy had evidently made "a thora job" of it this time.
Claire would have been satisfied with a brief glance, but her husband detained her.
"I say, Martha," he addressed Mrs. Slawson, "what is it you told young Sam? 'Not to let a thing go free'?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, he's a model boy. He has obeyed you to the letter. Look here!"
Martha, looking in the direction indicated, saw a bunch of animate white, huddled disconsolately against a far corner of the white wall.
"What is it?" she asked.
Mr. Ronald made a clucking sound, and the bunch separated sluggishly, proving itself to be two very thoroughly whitewashed hens.