“He means what are we here for,” whispered Tibbs to Coppertop.
“Oh, dear! It’s so hard to explain. You see, Mummie and Daddy are coming home from India to-day—and it’s the first of December.”
“How I hate that name!” grumbled the South Wind to himself.
“And—and it should be a fine day, but it isn’t—it’s a horrid July day!”
“You are ungrateful!” reproved the South Wind.
“You have much to thank the dull July days for. They soften the ground, and supply it with moisture to feed the coming spring-time crops.”
“Yes. But it shouldn’t be July in December, should it?”
“Er—well, no! Perhaps not! I know my winter days do stray at times.”
“Oh, please DO call it back!” pleaded Coppertop. “And tell us where to find the December day in its place.”
“Very well, I’ll call back my July day,” consented the South Wind. “But I can do no more. I’ll have nothing to do with December. I loathe it!”