er wise things hummed and sang in leafy places; the
leaves on the magnolias were motionless, and the air asleep. A
butterfly, passing to his siesta on the bosom of a rose, paused an
instant on the window ledge to contemplate her foolishness; the flowers
in the borders hung their heads. Berkeley passed the open window,
looking cool and fresh in summer clothing, and Pocahontas, catching
sight of him, put her fingers to her lips and whistled sharply to
attract his attention, which being done, she followed up the advantage
with pantomimic gestures, indicative of despair, and need of swift
assistance. Berkeley turned good-naturedly, and came in to the rescue,
but when he discovered the service required of him, he regarded it with
aversion, and showed a mean desire to retreat, which unworthiness was
promptly detected by Pocahontas, and as promptly frustrated.

"Do help me, Berkeley," she entreated. "They must all be put in place
again before dinner, and it only wants a quarter to one now. I can't
do it all before half-past two, to save my life, unless you help me.
You know, mother dislikes a messy, littered room, and I've got your
favorite pudding for dessert. Oh, dear! I'm tired to death already,
and it's _so_ warm!" The rising inflection of her voice conveyed an
impression of heat intense enough to drive an engine.

"What made you do it?" inquired Berkeley, in a tone calculated to make
her sensible of folly.

"Mother asked me to dust the books sometime ago, but I neglected it,
and this morning when the sun shone on them I saw that their condition
was disgraceful. I was so much disgusted with my untidiness, that I
dragged them all out on the impulse of the moment, and only realized
how hot it was, and how I hated it, after the deed was done. Come,
Berke, do help me. I'm so tired."

Thus adjured, Berkeley laid aside his coat, for lifting is warm work
with the sun at the meridian. The empty shirt sleeve had a forlorn and
piteous look as it hung crumpled and slightly twisted by his side.
Berkeley caught it with his other hand and thrust the cuff in the
waistband of his trowsers. He was well used to his loss, and
apparently indifferent to it, but the dangling of the empty sleeve
worried him; the arm was gone close up at the shoulder.

Then the pair fell to work briskly, dusting, arranging, re-arranging
and chatting pleasantly. Pocahontas plied the duster and her brother
sorted the books and replaced them on th