to the back drive again, and bring
a watering can to wash it with?" said Sylvia.

"We might, but it's so hard to get it. When I tug it only seems to
flop in deeper."

"Let me try."

"You can if you like, but I think the stones are weighing it down."

"You go a little farther on then, and let me come to where you are, so
that I can reach properly."

Linda crawled cautiously along, feeling her way as she went.

"It seems to be a kind of sunk tub," she said. "Look, the edges are
made of wood, and it's filled up with water. Oh, do be careful,
Sylvia!" she exclaimed as the latter leaned over to grasp the handles.

"I'm all right. I've got them quite firmly. Now I'm going to give one
good tug and a shake to get rid of the stones and then I expect it
will come."

"Shall I hold your dress?" asked Linda, looking on with a shiver of
apprehension.

"No, don't touch me! There, I can feel the stones go. It's coming!
It's coming!"

And so it was, but far more suddenly than Sylvia had calculated; the
unexpected jerk completely overbalanced her, and before she had time
even to clutch at one of the rhododendron boughs she had fallen
together with the barrow into the pool. Luckily it was not deep, and
she was in no danger of drowning, but the mud was thick and black at
the bottom, and as she scrambled hastily out she looked as if she had
been dipped into an inkpot.

"Oh! Sylvia!" cried Linda, "What are we to do? We can't possibly help
everyone finding out now. What a frightful mess you're in!"

"So I am," said Sylvia, looking ruefully at her spoilt clothes, and
trying to wipe off some of the mud with her hands. "I didn't get the
barrow up either."

"Oh, never mind the barrow; we can't stop for it now! There's the
dressing bell. We shall have to go and tell somebody. You're simply
streaming with mud, and we shall both be late for dinner."

Feeling very guilty, the pair crept out from under the bush and tried
to dash across towards the side door, on the chance that Sylvia might
be able to reach the bathroom and remove at least some of the traces
of her dipping before anyone caught her. It was a vain hope, for in
turning the corner they ran almost into the arms of Miss Coleman, who
had come out to look for a missing member of her small flock.

"Sylvia Lindsay," she cried in horror, "you naughty child! Where have
you been? And what have you done to yourself?"

"I don't know," replied Sylvia, dissolving into tears, which