"Faith," said he, abandoning his attempt to persuade Bessie from her way of thinking, "I 'll wash your hands for you, for fear, if I don't, you 'll wash your hands of me."
Turning on his heel, Moore crossed to the corner where he had left his bucket of water, and, picking it up, placed it beside the basin that lay on the bench.
"Come here, Bessie, and I 'll scrub you clean as a whistle," he announced cheerfully.
Bessie held her hand over the basin obediently, and Moore poured over it the water from the pail.
"Oh--h!" cried the schoolmistress.
"What ails you, Bessie?"
"My, but that water is cold."
"True for you," replied Moore, rubbing her hand with a cake of soap he found in the basin, "but you have so often thrown cold water on my heart it is only fair I should pour some on your hand."
"Oh, I see, Mr. Moore," replied Bessie, "and now that you have given me so much soft soap, you think you will try hard soap for a change."
Moore lathered her fingers vigorously.