"You'll take cold," finally ventured the biggest little girl.
"P'raps I will," retorted P'rapsy.
"You're getting wet," said the littlest little girl.
P'rapsy only sniffed. But it wasn't so very much fun, after all. P'rapsy kept hearing, "Be a good girl, P'rapsy." "Yessum."
When she had proved that she, at least, was not a 'fraid cat, P'rapsy splashed out.
"You needn't tell," she cried over her shoulder, as her bare feet twinkled back to the house.
That night Mrs. Perrin heard strange sounds in P'rapsy's room: "Ker-choo! Ker-choo! Ker-choo!" She went to the door. P'rapsy was sitting up in bed.
"I'b dot sick, babba," she explained. "I'b just—ker-choo!"
Mrs. Perrin left the room. When she returned she carried a big white bottle and a spoon.
"Do, do, do!" screamed P'rapsy, as her mother poured out the thick, slippery oil. "I'b dot——"