. To which she
always replied: "I suppose you great lazy fellows would like to have the
cobwebs grow on you. But you sha'n't, while I am in the house." Then,
with a few dexterous flourishes of her cloth, she would start the dust
up in a cloud.

On this morning, Marcus Wilkeson, being in the most tolerant of moods,
merely said "Whew!" and took a seat by his favorite window, the lower
sash of which he threw wide open, with the vain hope that some of the
dust would blow out. Miss Philomela smiled at this act so as to be seen
by him. But he did not appear to notice it. Then she whisked her cloth
under his very nose, as if to challenge objections. After this
aggravation had been repeated three or four times, Marcus felt compelled
to make a mild protest.

"Great deal of dust, sister," he said, stating what he presumed would
not be contradicted.

"Is there?" replied Miss Philomela, exulting in the success of her
stratagem. "_I_ didn't notice it; nor would you, if you had some
business to look after, like other people, instead of stopping in the
house all day."

Marcus had heard that argument and triumphantly put it down so often,
that he did not think it worth another word. Consequently he
said nothing.

This obstinate silence galled Miss Philomela; and, after waiting full
three minutes to see if Marcus would not answer, and meanwhile dusting
prodigiously in his neighborhood, she said:

"Well, it's some gratification to know that you do not have the
hardihood to defend yourself. You are well aware that nothing can
justify a healthy, middle-aged man--I may say, a young one--in retiring
from active life and society, and becoming a great lazy mope."

"I'm really too lazy to discuss it now," replied Marcus, smiling, and
filling his meerschaum from the tobacco pouch which hung conveniently at
the window's side.

Philomela regarded him for a moment with an expression of pity and
horror. Then she heaved a sigh, and muttered something about
misapplied talents.

"You had better say, 'Misapplied brooms and dusters,'" retorted her
half-brother. "I should be perfectly happy now, but for this
confounded dust."

"Laugh away. I know you despise my sisterly advice. But you can never
say that I have not done my duty--"

"To the furniture, most assuredly," interrupted Marcus.

Miss Philomela Wilkeson heaved another sigh in the best style of
martyrdom, and precipitately left the room, followed by her brother's
cheerful, rattlin