"O dear me, and there's this water running all over the floor," cried
Adela, stepping gingerly over the pool, and trying to pick off the wet
sleeve from her arm at the same time.
"I'll fix it," said Polly, as cheerily as she could, "while you get
your waist on." And she sopped the water up. "There, that's done," she
announced with satisfaction; "now do hurry, Adela."
"I can't get out of this old, horrid, wet sleeve," said Adela, very red
in the face, and pulling and twitching at it.
"Take care, you'll tear it," warned Polly.
"I don't care if I do," said Adela, peevishly. "O dear me, somebody's
coming!" With that she flew into the closet and pulled to the door.
"Why, Polly!" exclaimed Mother Fisher, in surprise, "what is the
matter? We are all waiting to go in to dinner."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," began Polly, feeling as if nothing would be so
delightful as to have a good cry in Mamsie's arms and tell all the
story.
"Well, you must come right away," said Mrs. Fisher. "Why, where is
Adela?" looking around the room.
"I'm here," said Adela, from the closet.
"Come out here, Adela," said Mrs. Fisher. So Adela came out, the wet
sleeve still on her arm; but she had gotten out of the rest of the
waist.
"That's too bad," said Mrs. Fisher; and in a minute Adela's wet arm was
free and nicely dried, and a clean waist being found, it was soon on,
and then Mother Fisher took up the hairbrush.
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