And we couldn't get the tree in or out. We'd wrestled it mostly into the hole we had dug before the house but it was not big enough, nor the roots spread correctly and now we could not get it down, or up, or onto its side, or any way at all. On each side we tugged and lurched, stepping on our skirts and sweating more. I sank into helpless silly laughter clinging to the tree, gasping for breath as for sanity while Zora screamed in exasperation and cursed vividly in a rare departure from her taciturnity.
The tree trunk, smooth and gray and slender, slipped through my fingers which, though sweaty, were weakened with my laughter. Bent over, laughing, I smeared rivulets of sweat from my face and looked up to see Cesca.
I straightened somewhat, and attempted briefly, ineffectually, haphazardly, to adjust my costume and hair whose honey-brown strands had been pulled loose and tossed by many little twigs from the tree. My cheeks were flushed and I took a deep breath to put an end to my silliness. The laughter threatened to escape and rush all about the yard without bounds.

She was tall. She stood relaxed, with one knee flexed, and with her hands in her pockets regarded us with ease, amusement, and with an interest which made it impossible for her to pass by. "I could see your difficulty from the road," she indicated it casually with a loose gesture over her shoulder.
She spoke in response to my greeting and my rather breathless, "Can we help you? Are you lost?"
She shook her dark head, either at my question or at our predicament.
She came forward and setting her brown boots in the soft turned earth grasped the tree and righted it. "I'll balance it," she offered, "while you set it straight."