Then bring that stool and sit where I can look at you while you rub my head with your hands.

It aches enough to split, and I believe the bumble bees are swarming; but they can't get out, and if they could, they are the white-faced kind, which never sting.' Jerry knew all about white-faced bumble-bees, for Harold had caught them for her, and with this fear removed, she did as Arthur bade her, and was soon seated at his side, rubbing his forehead, where the blue veins were standing out full and round, and smoothing his hair caressingly with her fingers, which seemed to have in them a healing power, for the pain and heat grew less under their touch, and, after a while Arthur fell into a quiet sleep.
When he awoke, after half an hour or so, it was with a delicious sense of rest and freedom from pain.

Jerry had dropped the shades to shut out the sunlight, and was walking on tiptoe round the room, arranging the furniture and talking to herself in whispers, as she usually did when playing alone.
'Jerry,' Arthur said to her, and she was at his side in a moment, 'you are an enchantress.

The ache is all gone from my head, charmed away by your hands.

Now, come and sit by me again, and tell me all you know of yourself before Harold found you.