“Oh dear! my new pants and jacket!” was the first thing the wet little fellow found breath to say after Joe and Willie had fished him out of the water and set him on the bank to dry.
“That comes of bringin’ babies along,” said Ben, running down the bank.
That was the drop too much, and Frankie commenced crying, saying, between his sobs, “I want to go home. Oh! please let’s go home.”
So Joe and Will made a chair again for Frankie and started for home, leaving Ben to enjoy his wading alone.
They set Frankie down by the gate, and, picking up his boots and stockings, he went into the house.
“Why, Frankie Western!” exclaimed his mother, as the wet, muddy, rueful little figure stood in the sitting-room door. “Where have you been? Your new clothes are ruined.” And, carrying the speechless little fellow into the kitchen, she soon had him thoroughly washed, and put on one of his old dresses in place of the new pants and jacket which were hung up for future attention.
It was a good deal of water for one day, and the crash towel was rough, and to go back into a dress and apron after wearing pants, was something of a trial, but the poor child was too tired, and too glad to be at home to care much about it. After he was dressed he sat contentedly in his chair till supper-time, then ate his bread and milk and went to bed. It was not long before he was dreaming of fishes and creeks, and muddy pants, nor very long before the morning sun drove away the dreams and opened his eyes. Jumping up, he put on his stockings and boots, but pants and jacket were nowhere to be seen, nothing but the brown gingham dress and apron.
“Mamma, mamma, I want my pants. Please, mamma,” he said, running into the kitchen where his mother was getting breakfast.
“They must be cleaned first. Put on your dress and come to breakfast.” Her voice was so pleasant that Frankie forgot his impatience, and dressed himself quickly and quietly.
After breakfast he was about to run out as usual, when his mother said,