Phronsie’s hand dropped from Mrs. Henderson’s gown. She ran over unsteadily to the big tub on its bench. “I’m going to help you, Polly,” she said, standing on her tiptoes.
“So you shall,” said Polly, flashing over a bright smile to the parson’s wife. “Run and get your little tub, and see if you can get Seraphina’s clothes washed as quickly as these,” she doused one of the boy’s little calico jackets up and down in the suds.
“But I want to help on these things,” said Phronsie, patting the big tub with a disappointed little hand. “Please, Polly, let me.”
“No,” said Polly decidedly, “there isn’t room for more than one here. Besides Mamsie wouldn’t like it.”
“Wouldn’t Mamsie like it for me to help in the big tub?” asked Phronsie.
“No, she wouldn’t,” said Polly decidedly.
Phronsie slowly let her hand drop to her side. “Would Mamsie want me to wash dolly’s clothes?” she asked, her blue eyes fastened on Polly’s face.
“Yes, indeed, she certainly would,” declared Polly decidedly. “There now, that’s clean, until Joey gets it dirty again,” and she wrung out the little calico blouse.
“Then I shall wash my dolly’s clothes,” declared Phronsie, marching off to the woodshed where her little tub was kept.
“And you come with me, David,” said Mrs. Henderson, “for I must get to work in my attic. Polly, don’t worry, child—we’ll find some way to get your mother back here,” she whispered on the way out of the yard. And taking David’s hand, the parson’s wife went swiftly home, hoping at every step that no parishioner had caught sight of those unwashed breakfast dishes.