CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"Oh, Cis!"
"Well?"
"Come down here."
"Can't. I'm busy."
"What are you doing?"
"Washing Melchisedek. He hunted an hypothetical rat all over the coal
cellar, and came out looking like a chimney sweep."
"Well, hurry up. I have something to tell you, something exciting."
"I can't. It is a work of time to get him bleached out again. Come up and
talk to me while I scrub."
Allyn clattered up the stairs. He found Cicely kneeling before a pail in
which Melchisedek stood upright, a picture of sooty dolefulness, with
water trickling from every sodden spike of his coat. The corners of his
mouth drooped dejectedly, whether from Cicely's chidings or from the
taste of the soap it would be hard to say.
"Pretty little dear; isn't he, Allyn?" she asked, while she scoured away
at the tiny paws. "Just my ideal of a dainty lap dog. Melchisedek mustn't
go into the coal. No, no!"
Melchisedek make a futile attempt to waggle his dripping tail; it only
splattered sadly against the top of the pail, and he gave up that effort
in favor of one to climb into Cicely's lap.
"No; Melchisedek must stand on own footies. What is your news, Allyn?"
"Mr. Barrett is here. Called, last night."
"On Babe?"
"On the whole family."
"It was meant for Babe, though," Cicely said conclusively.
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