Glad I can't do any more now! Being neat is such hard work!" and Molly threw herself down on the rug beside the old wooden cradle in which Boo was blissfully rocking, with a cargo of toys aboard.
She watched her time, and as soon as her father had done supper, she hastened to say, before he got to his desk,-- "Please, papa, I want a dollar to get some brass buttons and things to fix Boo's clothes with.

He wore a hole in his new trousers coasting down the Kembles' steps.

And can't I wash him?
He needs it, and Miss Bat won't let me have a tub." "Certainly, child, certainly; do what you like, only don't keep me.

I must be off, or I shall miss Jackson, and he's the man I want;" and, throwing down two dollars instead of one, Mr.Bemis hurried away, with a vague impression that Boo had swallowed a dozen brass buttons, and Miss Bat had been coasting somewhere in a bath-pan; but catching Jackson was important, so he did not stop to investigate.
Armed with the paternal permission, Molly carried her point, and oh, what a dreadful evening poor Boo spent! First, he was decoyed upstairs an hour too soon, then put in a tub by main force and sternly scrubbed, in spite of shrieks that brought Miss Bat to the locked door to condole with the sufferer, scold the scrubber, and depart, darkly prophesying croup before morning.
"He always howls when he is washed; but I shall do it, since you won't, and he must get used to it.

I will not have people tell me he's neglected, if I can help it," cried Molly, working away with tears in her eyes--for it was as hard for her as for Boo; but she meant to be thorough for once in her life, no matter what happened.
When the worst was over, she coaxed him with candy and stories till the long task of combing out the curls was safely done; then, in the clean night-gown with a blue button newly sewed on, she laid him in bed, worn out, but sweet as a rose.
"Now, say your prayers, darling, and go to sleep with the nice red blanket all tucked round so you won't get cold," said Molly, rather doubtful of the effect of the wet head.
"No, I won't! Going to sleep _now!_" and Boo shut his eyes wearily, feeling that his late trials had not left him in a prayerful mood.
"Then you'll be a real little heathen, as Mrs.Pecq called you, and I don't know what I shall do with you," said Molly, longing to cuddle rather than scold the little fellow, whose soul needed looking after as well as his body.
"No, no; I won't be a heevin! I don't want to be frowed to the trockindiles.