“Oh! I’ll get her in,” said Elyot, really afraid that Mrs. Beebe would tumble over; and before Mr. Beebe could remonstrate, he had lifted Barby, and rolled her in over the sill, both of the Beebes “ohing” and “ahing” all the time.
“Now, dear, there ain’t no manner o’ use in askin’ you how you come,” said Mrs. Beebe, restraining her curiosity, “the first thing to do is to see after that poor lamb there. Do you s’pose, Elyot, you could manage to get her onto the sofy, an’ I’ll off with her shoes an’ bathe them poor tired little feet. Oh, you poor lamb, you!”
“Yes, I can,” said Elyot manfully; and between the help that old Mr. Beebe gave and old Mrs. Beebe contributed, Barby was soon on the old chintz sofa.
“Now, says I,” declared old Mr. Beebe, rubbing his hands, “that’s something like it. I’ll take off her shoes, wife, that’s in my line; an’ you get the hot water an’ bathe her feet.” So he drew up a chair to the side of the sofa, and putting Barby’s little dusty boots on his knee, he drew them off, and the stockings; and Mrs. Beebe, coming out with a big bowl, and a towel over her arm, sat down in the chair that Elyot drew up for her. “Oh, me! oh, my!” she exclaimed compassionately, “the poor precious little toes!” caressing them.
Elyot threw himself on the floor, and rolled and stretched in perfect abandon.
“And he’s so tired too,” said old Mrs. Beebe, stopping in her work to peer at him over her spectacles.
“Yes, I am,” declared Elyot; “so awfully tired sitting on a basket.”
“Sitting on a basket!” ejaculated both of the Beebes together.
Elyot nodded, and took another roll.
Just then Barby pulled away the white toes that Mrs. Beebe had submerged with the warm cloth. “Oh!” she exclaimed, opening her eyes dewy with sleep, and regarding them fixedly, “I want some pink sticks for dinner; I’m hungry, truly I am.”