He washed his small sister with thoroughness and despatch, pointing out ... that he "went into all the corners."
The washing-glove was very large on Tony's little hand, and he used a tremendous lot of soap—but Fay became all smiles and amiability during the process. Meg and Jan had tears in their eyes as they watched the quaint spectacle. There was something poignantly pathetic in the clinging together of these two small wayfarers in a strange country, so far from all they had known and shared in their short experience.
Meg's "nasty hat" was rakishly askew upon her red curls, for Fay had frequently grabbed at it in her rage, and the beautiful green linen gown was sopping wet.
"Engliss Ayah clying!" Fay remarked surprisedly. "What for?"
"Because you wouldn't let me bathe you," said Meg dismally. Her voice broke. She really was most upset. As it happened, she did the only thing that would have appealed to little Fay.
"Don't cly, deah Med," she said sweetly. "You sall dly me."
And Meg, student of so many manuals, humbly and gratefully accepted the task.
It had taken exactly an hour and a quarter to get Fay ready for bed. Indian Ayah used to do it in fifteen minutes.
Consistently and cheerfully gracious, Fay permitted Meg to carry her to her cot and tuck her in.