Walter was still too much asleep to recall what had happened to him during the past few hours; so he only said that he had a headache and must wash himself first.
Mrs. Claus, noticing that he was ashamed to undress, hung some quilts on the fence, thus converting the yard into a sort of room. It never occurred to her that her own presence might embarrass him. Walter was still not quite pleased with the outlook for a bath; but since yesterday he had been thinking of other things as strange.
He began to strip, allowing Mrs. Claus to help him, just as if he had been fifteen years younger than he was. To Mrs. Claus he was only a child.
She laid him on a bench under the spout and began to pump. At the first drops he shivered; then the water flooded his head and shoulders. He could neither see nor speak. His efforts to speak she interpreted as calls for more water.
“Yes, this will be good for you.” Her words were drowned by the splashing water.
“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you? Do you think that will be enough now? I’ve pumped till I’ve got a pain in my side. But if you think that——”
She stopped all at once, but still held on to the pump handle, as if to show her willingness to continue.
“I forgot entirely to”—she began pumping again—“wash you off with green soap. Femke always washes herself with it. It makes the skin nice and smooth.—You ought to see your back now. It shines like a looking-glass.”
Walter wanted to say something but couldn’t.
“Yes, and your forehead, too. It’s the green soap that does it. I guess your mother never washes you with green soap, does she? Then one must scour and scrub and rub. But, if you are not used to soap——”