Wesley's hand closed over hers.
"Gently, girl!" he said.

"This little body is covered with sores." "Sores!" she ejaculated.

"Sores?
What kind of sores ?" "Oh, they might be from bruises made by fists or boot toes, or they might be bad blood, from wrong eating, or they might be pure filth.

Will you hand me some towels ?" "No, I won't!" said Margaret.
"Well, give me some rags, then." Margaret compromised on pieces of old tablecloth.

Wesley led Billy to the cistern, pumped cold water into the tub, poured in a kettle of hot, and beginning at the head scoured him.