“Then we can leave it to you two,” said Mr. Linton, with relief.
“You can,” said Norah. “Only keep the supply of hot water going!”
They needed all they could get, and the soap was at a low ebb and the ammonia bottle empty before they made little Babs Archdale clean. At first she objected strenuously to the process, and her screams rent the air, and she struggled furiously, so that it took both attendants of the bath to hold her, and much soap went in her eyes. But once her hair was washed and tucked up out of her way, she suddenly became good, and submitted happily to their ministrations, revelling in the warm soapy water.
They stripped her rags off with gingerly movements, and Jean carried them on a stick into the scrub. All the child’s skin was stained with some dark juice and grimed with the dirt of long months; but it yielded to the scrubbing, and Babs emerged from the final rinsing water a very different being from the grubby picaninny who had gone in—the white skin of her shining little body a startling contrast to the deep sun-brown of her face and arms and legs. Norah rolled her in a towel and tossed her upon a bunk in the tent, rubbing and patting her gently, in sheer happiness over the slender, sweet-smelling little form. Out of the final towelling, Babs sat up, glowing and dimpling. She broke into sudden, happy laughter.
“Oh, you darling!” Norah said, catching her up. “Jean, isn’t she just lovely? Babs! Oh, I do want your mother to see you!”
Babs looked at her, opened her mouth, and then closed it.
“Muvver!” she said, quite clearly. “Muvver!” At which Norah and Jean, unable to contain their emotions, hugged each other very heartily—to the great delight of Babs, who sat upon the bed like a piebald Cupid and dimpled into laughter again at this strange pair.
Over the tangled curls both girls worked despairingly, while Babs submitted with a stoicism that said much for her sojourn as an aboriginal.
Norah stopped at last, and put down the comb.
“I think we’re a pair of duffers,” she said. “We might work all night at that mop, and it wouldn’t be right—indeed, I believe most of it will have to be cut off. But can’t you imagine how Mrs. Archdale will just love doing it!”