Behind these came Sandy Joyce, the picture of absurd dignity, as he vainly strove to carry the boiler of water without scalding himself. Toby came immediately behind him, with the bundle of laundry, a tumbled mass in his arms, crushed firmly to his stout chest, lest, by any ill-fate, he should drop any of the strange garments, which looked so absurdly small in his ignorant eyes.
Next came Sunny with the cleansing properties, which he carried gingerly, as though the very nature of them were repugnant to him, and the labor of carrying them an offense to his creed of life. The soap particularly troubled him. Its slippery nature made him drop it several times, till it seemed almost as though it resented him personally, and was trying to escape from the insult of such association. Wild Bill brought up the rear of the column, bearing the bright tin dippers, which clattered violently as they swung together on their string loops. He suggested nothing so much as a herder driving before him his unusual flock by the aid of a violent rattling on tin cans.
Solemnly the procession wound its way down the hill. Only the voices of the children, the yapping of the pup and the clatter of tinware enlivened the journey. The men’s minds were engrossed with their various charges. It was serious––desperately serious. But then, a bath in any form, much less a bath of two small children, was an affair of the gravest importance to these men. Then, too, there was nervousness with it. Everybody felt responsible, from the father to the desperate instigator of what was, in their minds, something almost amounting to an outrage.
However, the windings and roughnesses of the path, as it twisted its way through the scrubby bushes lining the creek bank, were finally negotiated more or less satisfactorily. The mishaps were not as great as might have been anticipated. Sandy only scalded himself twice, and his curses had to be stifled by a sharp reprimand from the gambler. Toby skidded down the slope once, and only saved the laundry at the personal expense of a torn shirt and a grazed elbow. Sunny, except for his difference of opinion with the soap, enjoyed no other mishap, and Bill’s only transgression was to send one of the dippers, amidst a volley of curses, hurtling at the yellow pup, who at one time threatened to upset all Sandy’s dignity, and incidentally the boiling water, by getting mixed up with that worthy widower’s legs.
The halt was made beside the wash-tub, and childish curiosity promptly asserted itself.
“You ain’t washin’ more clothes, poppa?” demanded Vada, with wide questioning eyes. “Ain’t this Sunday?”
“Pop-pa wash tothes,” mumbled Jamie.
Sunny took it upon himself to put the matter right in the small minds. He beamed upon the children.
“Poppa’s going to wash you,” he said, with unction.
“Wot for?” demanded Vada. “We ain’t done nothin’.”