"They'se SO clean and nicey--no horrid ole fleas 'n them now.
AREN't you glad? You can let Flibberty go on your bed now, and
Kitsy Blackeye is---"

Poor Baby never finished her speech. She had a confused idea of
hearing a little "swear-word" from her father, of being shaken in
a most ungentle fashion and put outside the stable, while the
unfortunate animals were dried and treated with great consideration.

But the worst was yet to come, and the results were so exceedingly
bad that the young Woolcots determined never again to assume virtues
that they had not.

Bunty, of course, desired to help the cause as strongly as the
others, and to that end his first action was to go into his
bedroom and perform startling ablutions with his face, neck, and
hands. Then he took his soap-shiny countenance and red, much
bescrubbed hands downstairs, and sunned himself under his
father's very nose, hoping to attract favourable comment.

But he was bidden irritably "go and play," and saw he would
have to find fresh means of appeasement.

He wandered into the study, with vague thoughts of tidying
the tidy bookshelves; but Pip vas there, surrounded with books
and whittling a stick for a catapult, so he went out again.
Then he climbed the stairs and explored his father's bedroom
and dressing-room. In the latter there was a wide field for his
operations. A full-dress uniform was lying across a chair, and it
struck Bunty the gold buttons were looking less bright than they