“What have you been doing it with?” he inquired.
She uncurled her hand, and showed the wet, crumpled handkerchief. “It’s a very old one,” she said, anxiously, “quite full of holes. I hadn’t any cloth to dry the steps, so I just blew softly as I sang—I s’pose I’ve got to be punished,” she said, miserably.
“Let me see first how you have done them,” said the Judge, trying to speak sternly, and getting up he walked to the top of the staircase.
The child had done her work thoroughly. There was not a particle of dust to be seen. Every square inch not covered by carpet had been carefully cleaned.
“Well,” he said, as he slowly came downstairs, “for punishment I order you to wash them down each day until further orders.”
She gave him a roguish smile. “Now, Daddy Grandpa, you know that is no punishment. You are just pretending.”
“Well,” he went on, “as that would be no punishment, I order you for work, or play, or whatever you call it, to wash these steps down once a week, and for penalty you will not be allowed to go for a drive with me for three days.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Three days, Daddy Grandpa—not two, not one?”
“No, three,” he said, decidedly, “three whole days.”
She wiped her eyes with the towel about her waist. “The time will seem long, but I deserve it. I was very bad. Mrs. Blodgett has gone shopping, and I thought that you were asleep, and Satan tempted me. I thought he was laying a trap, but I gave in to him.”