“Me will,” assented Nannette; “I is doin’ to be very dood.”
“So’ll I,” said Harry, “but I don’t like it a single bit.”
They played several games; then Nannette began to cry. She was tired and sleepy. Mrs. Coote heard her, came to the door, and understanding what was the matter, bade Ethel take her little sister up to their own room and lay her on the bed.
“And when she wakes up,” added Mrs. Coote, “it will be time for you all to have your Saturday bath; for everybody must be particularly clean for Sunday.”
“Yes, ma’am,” returned Ethel, “our own mamma always had us bathed on Saturday.”
“In which she showed her sense,” said Mrs. Coote. “Now hurry up to your room every one of you, and see if you can keep quiet there. You may as well all take a nap, for you have nothing better to do.”
“There, there, don’t cry, Nan dear; we’ll soon get up to the top of these stairs and into our room,” Ethel said in soothing tones, doing her utmost to help her baby sister in the weary task of climbing the rather steep flight of stairs that led to that desired haven.
“I so tired,” sobbed Nan.
“Yes, dear; and these stairs are high for your poor little legs. But never mind; we’re most up now. Ah, here we are, and you shall lie down and have oh! such a good sleep, with Blanche on one side and me on the other and Harry on his own bed over there in the corner.”
Nothing loth, the baby girl cuddled down on the bed; the others climbed into their places, and tired with their play the whole four were presently sleeping soundly.