Mary-’Gustaawokenextmorningtofindthesunshininginatthewindowofherbedroom。Shehadnomeansofknowingthetime，butshewascertainitmustbeverylateand，inconsequence，wasalmostdressedwhenIsaiahknockedatthedoortotellherbreakfastwouldbereadyprettysoon。Afewminuteslatersheappearedinthekitchenbearingthepitcherfromthewashstandinherroom。
“Whatyoudoin’withthat？“demandedMr。Chase，whowasleaningagainstthedoor-postlookingoutintotheyard。
“Iwasgoin’tofillit，“saidthechild。“Therewasn’tanywatertowashwith。“
Isaiahsniffed。“Iain’thadnotimetofillwashpitchers，“hedeclared。“Thatone’sbeenonmymindformore’nafortni’tbutI’vehadotherthingstodo。Youcanwashyourselfinthatbasininthesink。That’swhattherestofusdo。“
Mary-’Gustaobedientlywashedinthetinbasinandrubbedherfaceandhandsdryupontherollertowelbehindtheclosetdoor。