“Of course we must, my darling.”
“He has been grubbing and grubbing at school,” said Bella, looking at her father’s hand and lightly slapping it, “till he’s not fit to be seen. O what a grubby child!”
“Indeed, my dear,” said her father, “I was going to ask to be allowed to wash my hands, only you find me out so soon.”
“Come here, sir!” cried Bella, taking him by the front of his coat, “come here and be washed directly. You are not to be trusted to do it for yourself. Come here, sir!”
The cherub, to his genial amusement, was accordingly conducted to a little washing-room, where Bella soaped his face and rubbed his face, and soaped his hands and rubbed his hands, and splashed him and rinsed him and towelled him, until he was as red as beetroot, even to his very ears: “Now you must be brushed and combed, sir,” said Bella, busily. “Hold the light, John. Shut your eyes, sir, and let me take hold of your chin. Be good directly, and do as