Sheila decided to do a little laundry one day, clothes that were in Lucy’s hamper, a dirty clothes bin that Lucy had insisted that she have for herself separate from the family one. She remembered possessing it during the Gold Rush. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. We may be stopped. "Si—lence!" vociferated Charcam, laying great emphasis on the last syllable. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. It is my business to know most people. .
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