, but he denied
himself this satisfaction as he glanced through the window at the
morning sun. It was too high up in the sky. There was other work yet
before him, with none too much time for its performance before the
midday meal.

Instead, he turned to the "regulations" which Sunny Oak had furnished
him with, and, with an index finger following out the words, he read
down the details of the work for Sunday--in so far as his twins were
concerned.

"Ah," he murmured, "I got the wash done yesterday. It says here
Monday. That's kind of a pity." Then he brightened into hopefulness.
"Guess I kin do those things again Monday. I sort o' fancy they could
do with another wash 'fore the kiddies wear them. I never could wash
clothes right, first time. Now, Sunday." His finger passed slowly from
one detail to another. "Breakfast--yes. Bath. Ah, guess that comes
next. Now, 'bout that bath." He glanced anxiously round him. Then he
turned back to the regulations. "It don't say whether hot or cold," he
muttered disappointedly.

For a moment he stood perplexed. Then he began to reason the matter
out with himself. It was summer. For grown-ups it would naturally be a
cold bath, but he was not so sure about children. They were very
young, and it would be so easy for them to take cold, he thought. No,
it had best be hot. He would cook some water. This thought prompting
him, he set the saucepan on the stove and stirred the fire.

He was turning back to his regulations, when it occurred to him that
he must now find something to bathe the children in. Glancing about
amongst the few pots he possessed, he realized that the largest
saucepan, or "billy," in the house would not hold more than a gallon
of water. No, these were no use, for though he exercised all his
ingenuity he could see no way of bathing the children in any of them.
Once during his cogitations he was very nearly inspired. It flashed
through his mind that he might stand each child outside of a couple of
pots and wash them all over that way. But he quickly negatived the
thought. That wasn't his idea of a bath. They must sit _in_ the
water.

He was about to give the matter up in despair, when, in a moment of
inspiration, he remembered the washing-tub. Of course, that was the
very thing. They could both sit in that together. It was down at the
river, but he could easily fetch it up.

So he turned again in relief to the regulations. What next? He found
his place, and read the