Part 6 (2/2)
They were not, however, quite tall enough to do this, but Zaidee's quick eyes, roving around, spied a wooden stool which she immediately dragged up on the little platform, to stand on. She climbed up and looked in.
It was not the vat in which she had turned the spigot, and it was half full of whey with great pieces of the curd floating around on it.
”Here's more nice white water, with pretty white stones floating on it,”
Zaidee cried, eagerly. She stretched down her hand to grasp some. She could just reach it, but to her surprise the ”white stone” separated as she grasped it.
”I can't pick it up,” she cried, puzzled, as she tried again and again.
”Let me see,” begged Helen. But the stool was not big enough for both to stand on, and Zaidee was too interested to get down. A bigger piece of curd came floating towards her, and she leaned quickly forward to reach it. She lost her balance, and went headlong into the milky pool.
In a moment, sputtering and screaming, she found her feet, for the liquid was only up to her waist, but the top of the tank being even with her head, of course she could not get out. Helen stood open-mouthed with astonishment at Zaidee's sudden disappearance; then she quickly climbed upon the stool to see for herself. Zaidee stood immersed to her waist, with her short, silky black hair plastered to her head with the whey, and small lumps of curd sticking all over her head and shoulders, so that she looked as if she had been out in a sharp-cornered snow storm.
She tried to rub her streaming eyes dry with her wet fists.
”I don't like this white water,” she said, wiping her wet face on her wetter sleeve. ”It's nasty stuff. It's worse than the ocean. It's sour water, Helen. Just taste it.”
”I can't,” said Helen. ”How can you get out? Can you step on those white stones?”
”They won't hold me up. They're such funny stones. They all go to pieces when you squeeze them,” said Zaidee, grasping some with both hands, to ill.u.s.trate. ”Could you put the stool over for me to stand on?”
”I can't, 'cause I'm standing on it. P'raps I can pull you out, Zaidee.
See if I can.”
Zaidee waded over to the side of the tank, and tried to climb up the smooth, tin-lined surface, while Helen tugged from above.
When this did not work, the children stared at each other wistfully.
”Do you s'pose you'll have to stay there always?” said Helen, at last, in a half whisper.
”No. I'll holler,” said Zaidee, with confidence, ”and somebody will come. If only I could get _boosted_ a little bit! Helen!” with a sudden inspiration, ”you jump over here and I'll stand on your knee as I do on 'Liza's when she boosts me up into the apple-tree. Then I could climb right over.”
Helen hesitated. This plan did not strike her favourably.
”Oh, Zaidee! I don't want to get down there into that white water. It smells so loud, and I'd get my feet all wet, and my dress wet, too.”
Helen was one of the children whom dirt distresses, and no soil ever seemed to cling to her clothes or hands. Zaidee was not in the least particular, or, perhaps, she would not have lunched on woolly worms.
”But I've got to get out, Helen,” she persisted. ”I'm all sticky inside.
I don't like it. Please jump in and boost me out;” for the problem of getting Helen out never occurred to either of these young philosophers.
Helen looked very unwilling, but she was too used to doing as Zaidee ordered to object further; she slowly put one leg over the edge of the tank till her foot touched the whey. Then she s.h.i.+vered, and hesitated.
Zaidee took hold of her leg for fear she would draw it back, but, pulling it a little harder than she intended, Helen immediately fell over on to Zaidee, who, unable to keep her footing on the smooth tin bottom, took a second plunge, dragging Helen with her.
Then two curded and wheyey heads arose.
”Oh, Helen, you look so funny!” said Zaidee, as Helen spluttered in her turn. ”Doesn't it feel awful nasty? And see how funny these little stones look now!”
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