On that day she was standing up at the board, a piece
of chalk in her hand, chewing her tongue and thinking hard how to find
out the amount of wall-paper needed for a room 12 feet square with two
doors and two windows in it, when her eye fell on little 'Lias, bent
over his reading book. She forgot her arithmetic, she forgot where she
was. She stared and stared, till Ellen, catching the direction of her
eyes, looked and stared too. Little 'Lias was CLEAN, preternaturally,
almost wetly clean. His face was clean and shining, his ears shone pink
and fair, his hands were absolutely spotless, even his hay-colored hair
was clean and, still damp, brushed flatly back till it shone in the sun.
Betsy blinked her eyes a great many times, thinking she must be
dreaming, but every time she opened them there was 'Lias, looking white
and polished like a new willow whistle.
Somebody poked her hard in the ribs. She started and, turning, saw
Ralph, who was doing a sum beside her on the board, scowling at her
under his black brows. "Quit gawking at 'Lias," he said under his
breath. "You make me tired!" Something conscious and shame-faced in his
manner made Betsy understand at once what had happened. Ralph had taken
'Lias down to the little boys' wading-place and had washed him all over.
She remembered now that they had a piece of yellow soap there.
Her face broke into a radiant smile and she began to say something to
Ralph about how nice that was of him, but he frowned again and said,
crossly, "Aw, cut it out! Look at what you've done there! If I couldn't
9 x 8 and get it right!"
"How queer boys are!" thought Betsy, erasing her mistake and putting
down the right answer.
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