CHAPTER II
FANCY--SEED OF WONDER
The country house, so ancient that it seemed part of the landscape,settled down secretively into the wintry darkness and watched the nightwith eyes of yellow flame. The thick December gloom hid it securelyfrom attack. Nothing could find it out. Though crumbling in places, themass of it was solid as a fortress, for the old oak beams had resistedTime so long that the tired years had resigned themselves to siegeinstead of assault, and the protective hills and woods rendered itimpregnable against the centuries. The beleaguered inhabitants feltsafe. It was a delightful, cosy feeling, yet excitement and surprisewere in it too. Anything _might_ happen, and at any moment.
This, at any rate, was how Judy and Tim felt the personality of the oldMill House, calling it Daddy's Castle. Maria expressed no opinion. Shefelt and knew too much to say a word. She was habitually non-committal.She shared the being of the ancient building, as the building sharedthe landscape out of which it grew so naturally. Having been born last,her inheritance of coming Time exceeded that of Tim and Judy, and shelived as though thoroughly aware of her prerogative. In quiet silenceshe claimed everything as her very own.
The Mill House, like Maria, never moved; it existed comfortably; itseemed independent of busy, hurrying Time. So thickly covered was itwith ivy and various creepers that the trees on the lawn wondered whyit did not grow bigger like themselves. They remembered the time whenthey looked up to it, whereas now they looked over it easily, and eventheir lower branches stroked the stone tiles on the roof, patched withmoss and lichen like their own great trunks. They had come to regard itas an elderly animal asleep, for its chimneys looked like horns, itpossessed a capacious mouth that both swallowed and disgorged, and itseyes were as numerous as those of the forest to which they themselvesproperly belonged. And so they accepted the old Mill House as a thingof drowsy but persistent life; they protected and caressed it; theyliked it exactly where it was; and if it moved they would have known anundeniable shock.
They watched it now, this dark December evening, as one by one itsgleaming eyes shone bright and yellow through the mist, then one by onelet down their dark green lids. "It's going to sleep," they thought."It's going to dream. Its life, like ours, is all inside. It sleeps thewinter through as we do. All is well. Good-night, old house of grey!We'll also go to sleep."
Unable to see into the brain of the sleepy monster, the trees resignedthemselves to dream again, tucking the earth closely against theirroots and withdrawing into the cloak of misty darkness. Like most otherthings in winter they also stayed indoors, leading an interior life ofdim magnificence behind their warm, thick bark. Presently, when theywere ready, something would happen, something they were preparing attheir leisure, something so exquisite that all who saw it would danceand sing for gladness. They also believed in a Wonderful Stranger whowas coming into their slow, steady lives. They fell to dreaming of thesurprising pageant they would blazon forth upon the world a littlelater. And while they dreamed, the wind of night passed moaning throughtheir leafless branches, and Time flew noiselessly above the turningEarth.
Meanwhile, inside the old Mill House, the servants lit the lamps anddrew the blinds and curtains. Behind the closing eyelids, however, likedream-chambers within a busy skull, there were rooms of various shapesand kinds, and in one of these on the ground-floor, called Daddy'sStudy, the three children stood, expectant and a little shy, waitingfor something desirable to happen. In common with all other livingthings, they shared this enticing feeling--that Something Wonderful wasgoing to happen. To be without this feeling, of course, is to be notalive; but, once alive, it cannot be escaped. At death it assertsitself most strongly of all--Something Too Wonderful is going tohappen. For to die is quite different from being not alive. Thisfeeling is the proof of eternal life--once alive, alive for ever. Tolive is to feel this yearning, huge expectancy.
Daddy had taught them this, though, of course, they knew itinstinctively already. And any moment now the door would open and hisfigure, familiar, yet each time more wonderful, would cross thethreshold, close the door behind him, and ... something desirable wouldhappen.
"I wish he'd hurry," said Tim impatiently. "There won't be any timeleft." And he glanced at the cruel clock that stopped all theirpleasure but never stopped itself. "The motor got here hours ago. Hecan't STILL be having tea." Judy, her brown hair in disorder, her beltsagging where it was of little actual use, sighed deeply. But there waspatience and understanding in her big, dark eyes. "He's in with Motherdoing finances," she said with resignation. "It's Saturday. Let's sitdown and wait." Then, seeing that Maria already occupied the bigarmchair, and sat staring comfortably into the fire, she did not move.Maria was making a purring, grunting sound of great contentment; shefelt no anxiety of any kind apparently.
But Tim was less particular.
"Alright," he said, squashing himself down beside Maria, whose podgyform accommodated itself to the intrusion like a cat, "as long as AuntEmily doesn't catch him on the way and begin explaining."
"She's in bed with a headache," mentioned Judy. "She's safe enough."For it was an established grievance against their mother's sister thatshe was always explaining things. She was a terrible explainer. Shecouldn't move without explaining. She explained everything in theworld. She was a good soul, they knew, but she had to explain that shewas a good soul. They rather dreaded her. Explanations took time forone thing, and for another they took away all wonder. In bed with aheadache, she was safely accounted for, explained.
"She thinks we miss her," reflected Tim. He did not say it; it justflashed through his mind, with a satisfaction that added vaguely to hispleasurable anticipation of what was coming. And this satisfactionincreased his energy. "Shove over a bit," he added aloud to Maria, andthough Maria did not move of her own volition, she was neverthelessshoved over. The pair of them settled down into the depths of thechair, but while Maria remained quite satisfied with her new position,her brother fussed and fidgeted with impatience born of repressedexcitement. "Run out and knock at the door," he proposed to Judy."He'll never get away from Mother unless we let him KNOW we're waiting."
Judy, kneeling on a chair and trying to make it sea-saw, pulled up herbelt, sprang down, then hesitated. "They'll only think it's Thompsonand say come in," she decided. "That's no good."
Tim jumped up, using Maria as a support to raise himself. "I knowwhat!" he cried. "Go and bang the gong. He'll think it'sdressing-time." The idea was magnificent. "I'll go if you funk it," headded, and had already slithered half way over the back of the chairwhen Judy forestalled him and had her hand upon the door-knob. Heencouraged her with various instructions about the proper way to beatthe gong, and was just beginning a scuffle with the inanimate Maria,who now managed to occupy the entire chair, when he was aware of a newphenomenon that made him stop abruptly. He saw Judy's face hanging inmid-air, six feet above the level of the floor. Her face was flushedand smiling; her hair hung over her eyes; and from somewhere behind orunderneath her a gruff voice said sternly:
"What are you doing in my Study at this time of night? Who asked youin?"
The expected figure had entered, catching Judy in the act of openingthe door. He was carrying her in his arms. She landed with a flop uponthe carpet. The desired and desirable thing was about to happen. "Getout, you lump, it's Daddy." But Maria, accustomed to her brother'sexaggerated language, and knowing it was only right and manly, merelyraised her eyes and waited for him to help her out. Tim did help herout; half dragging and half lifting, he deposited her in a solid heapupon the floor, then ran to the figure that now dominated the dim,fire-lit room, and hugged it with all his force, making sounds in histhroat like an excited animal: "Ugh! ugh! ugh!...!"
The hug was returned with equal vigour, but without the curious sounds;Maria was hugged as well and set upon her feet; while Judy, havingalready been sufficiently hugged, pushed the arm-chair closer up to thefire and waited patiently for the proper business of the evening tobegin.
T
he figure, meanwhile, disentangled itself. It was tall and thin, witha mild, resigned expression upon a kindly face that years and care hadlined before its time: old-fashioned rather, with soft, grey whiskersbelonging to an earlier day. A black tail-coat adorned it, and theneck-tie was crooked in the turned-down collar. The watch-chain wentfrom the waist-coat button to one pocket only, instead of right across,and one finger wore a heavy signet-ring that bore the family crest. Itwas obviously the figure of an overworked official in the Civil Servicewho had returned from its daily routine in London to the eveningroutine of its family in the country, the atmosphere of Government andthe Underground still hanging round it. For sundry whiffs of themysterious city reached the children's nostrils, bringing thrills ofsome strange, remote reality they had never known at first-hand. Theybusied themselves at once. While Tim unbuttoned the severe black coatand pulled it off, Judy brought a jacket of dingy tweed from behind acurtain in the corner, and stood on a chair to help the figure put iton. All knew their duties; the performance went like clockwork. AndMaria sat and watched in helpful silence. There was a certain air abouther as though she did it all.
"How they do spoil me, to be sure," the figure murmured to itself; "yetMother's always saying that _I_ spoil them. I wonder...!"
"Now you look decent at last," said Judy. "You smell like a nicerabbit."
"It's my shooting-coat." The figure cleared its throat, apparently onthe defensive a little.
Tim and Judy sniffed it. "Rabbits and squirrels and earth and things,"thought Tim.
"And flowers and burning leaves," said Judy. "It's his old garden-coatas well." She sniffed very audibly. "Oh, I love that smoky smell."
"It's the good old English smell," said the figure contentedly, whilethey put his neck-tie straight and arranged the pocket flaps for him."It's English country--England."
"Don't other countries smell, then?" inquired Tim. "I mean, could anyone tell you were English by your smell?" He sniffed again, withsatisfaction. "Weeden's the same," he went on, without waiting for ananswer, "only much stronger, and so's the potting shed."
"But yours is sweeter _much_," said Judy quickly. To share odours withan Authority like the Head Gardener was distinctly a compliment, butDaddy must come first, whatever happened. "How funny," she added, halfto herself, "that England should have such a jolly smell. I wonder whatit comes from?"
"Where _does_ England come from?" asked Tim, pausing a moment to stareinto the figure's face. "It's an island, of course--England--but--"
"A piece of land surrounded by water," began the figure, but was notallowed to finish. A chorus of voices interrupted:
"Make a story of it, please. There's just time. There's half an hour.It's nice and dark. Ugh! Something very awful or very silly, please...."
There followed a general scuffle for seats, with bitter complaints thathe only had two pointed knees. Maria was treated with scant respect.There was also criticism of life--that he had no lap, "no proper lap,"that it was too dark to see his face, that everybody in turn had got"the best place," but, chiefly, that there was "very little time." Timewas a nuisance always: it either was time to go, or time to stop, orelse there was not time enough. But at length quiet was established;the big arm-chair resembled a clot of bees upon a honeycomb; the fireburned dully, and the ceiling was thick with monstrous flutteringshadows, vaguely shaped.
"Now, please. We've been ready for ages."
A deep hush fell upon the room, and only a sound of confused breathingwas audible. The figure heaved a long, deep sigh as though it sufferedpain, paused, cleared its throat, then sighed again more heavily thanbefore. For the moment of creation was at hand, and creation is notaccomplished without much travail.
But the children loved the pause, the sigh, the effort. Not realisingwith what difficulty the stories were ground out, nor that it was aneffort against time--to make a story last till help came fromoutside--they believed that something immense and wonderful was on theway, and held their breath with beating hearts. Daddy's stories werealways marvellous; this one would be no exception.
Marvellous up to a point, that is: something in them failed. "He'strying," was their opinion of them; and it was the trying that theywatched and listened to so eagerly. The results were unsatisfying, theeffect incomplete; the climax of sensation they expected never came.Daddy, though they could not put this into words, possessed fancy only;imagination was not his. Fancy, however, is the seed of imagination, asimagination is the blossom of wonder. His stories prepared the soil inthem at any rate. They felt him digging all round them.
He began forthwith:
"Once, very long ago--"
"How long?"
"So long ago that the chalk cliffs of England still lay beneath thesea--"
"Was Aunt Emily alive then?"
"Or Weeden?"
"Oh, much longer ago than that," he comforted them; "so long, in fact,that neither your Aunt Emily nor Weeden were even thought of--therelived a man who--"
"Where? What country, please?"
"There lived a man in England--"
"But you said England was beneath the sea with the chalk cliffs."
"There lived a man in a very small, queer little island called Ingland,spelt 'Ing,' not 'Eng,' who--"
"It wasn't _our_ England, then?"
"On a tiny little island called Ingland, who was very lonely because hewas the only human being on it--"
"Weren't there animals and things too?"
"And the only animals who lived on it with him were a squirrel wholived in the only tree, a rabbit who lived in the only hole, and asmall grey mouse who made its nest in the pocket of his other coat."
"Were they friendly? Did he love them awfully?"
"At first he was very polite to them only, because he was a civilservant of his Government; but after a bit they became so friendly thathe loved them even better than himself, and went to tea with the rabbitin its hole, and climbed the tree to share a nut-breakfast with thesquirrel, and--and--"
"He doesn't know what to do with the mouse," a loud whisper, meant tobe inaudible, broke in upon the fatal hesitation.
"And went out for walks with the mouse when the ground was damp and themouse complained of chilly feet. In the pocket of his coat, all snugand warm, it stood on its hind legs and peered out upon the world withits pointed nose just above the pocket flap--"
"Then he liked the mouse best?"
"What sort of coat was it? An overcoat or just an ordinary one thatsmelt? Was that the only pocket in it?"
"It was made of the best leaves from the squirrel's tree, and from therabbit's last year's fur, and the mouse had fastened the edges togetherneatly with the sharpest of its own discarded whiskers. And so theywalked about the tiny island and enjoyed the view together--"
"The mouse couldn't have seen much!"
"Until, one day, the mouse declared the ground was ALWAYS wet and wasgetting wetter and wetter. And the man got frightened."
"Ugh! It's going to get awful in a minute!" And the children nestledcloser. The voice sank lower. It became mysterious.
"And the wetter it got the more the man got frightened; for the islandwas dreadfully tiny and--"
"Why, please, did it get wetter and wetter?"
"THAT," continued the man who earned his living in His Majesty'sStationery Office by day, and by night justified his existence offeringthe raw material of epics unto little children, "that was theextraordinary part of it. For no one could discover. The man strokedhis beard and looked about him, the squirrel shook its bushy tail, therabbit lifted its upper lip and thrust its teeth out, and the mousejerked its head from side to side until its whiskers grew longer andsharper than ever--but none of them could discover why the island gotwetter and wetter and wetter--"
"Perhaps it just rained like here."
"For the sky was always blue, it never rained, and there was so littledew at night that no one even mentioned it. Yet the tiny island gotwetter every day, till it finally got so wet that the very floor of
theman's hut turned spongy and splashed every time the man went to lookout of the window at the view. And at last he got so frightened that hestayed indoors altogether, put on both his coats at once, and toldstories to the mouse and squirrel about a country that was always dry--"
"Didn't the rabbit know anything?"
"For all this time the rabbit was too terrified to come out of its holeat all. The increasing size of its front teeth added to its uneasiness,for they thrust out so far that they hid the view and made the islandseem even smaller than it was--"
"I like rabbits, though."
"Till one fine day--"
"They were all fine, you said."
"One finer day than usual the rabbit made a horrible discovery. The wayit made the discovery was curious--may seem curious to us, atleast--but the fact is, it suddenly noticed that the size of its frontteeth had grown out of all proportion to the size of the island.Looking over its shoulder this fine day, it realised how absurdly smallthe island was in comparison with its teeth--and grasped the horridtruth. In a flash it understood what was happening. The island wasgetting wetter because it was also getting--_smaller_!"
"Ugh! How beastly!"
"Did it tell the others?"
"It retired half-way down its hole and shouted out the news to theothers in the hut."
"Did they hear it?"
"It warned them solemnly. But its teeth obstructed the sound, and thewindings of its hole made it difficult to hear. The man, besides, wasbusy telling a story to the mouse, and the mouse, anyhow, was soundasleep at the bottom of his pocket, with the result that the only onewho caught the words of warning was--the squirrel. For a squirrel'sears are so sharp that it can even hear the grub whistling to itselfinside a rotten nut; and it instantly took action."
"Ah! IT saved them, then?"
"The squirrel flew from the man's shoulder where it was perched,balanced for a second on the top of his head, then clung to the ceilingand darted out of the window without a moment's delay. It crossed theisland in a single leap, scuttled to the top of the tree, peered aboutover the diminishing landscape, and--"
"Didn't it see the rabbit?"
"And returned as quickly as it went. It bustled back into the hut,hopping nervously, and jerking its head with excitement. In a moment itwas perched again on the man's shoulder. It carefully kept its bushytail out of the way of his nose and eyes. And then it whispered what ithad seen into his left ear."
"Why into his left ear?"
"Because it was the right one, and the other had cotton wool in it."
"Like Aunt Emily!"
"What did it whisper?"
"The squirrel had made a discovery, too," continued the teller,solemnly.
"Goodness! That's two discoveries!"
"But what _did_ it whisper?"
In the hush that followed, a coal was heard falling softly into thegrate; the night-wind moaned against the outside walls; Judy scrapedher stockinged foot slowly along the iron fender, making a fainttwanging sound. Breathing was distinctly audible. For several momentsthe room was still as death. The figure, smothered beneath the clottedmass of children, heaved a sigh. But no one broke the pause. It was tooprecious and wonderful to break at once. All waited breathlessly, likebirds poised in mid-air before they strike ... until a new sound stolefaintly upon the listening silence, a faint and very distant sound,barely audible as yet, but of unmistakable character. It was far awayin the upper reaches of the building, overhead, remote, a littlestealthy. Like the ominous murmur of a muffled drum, it had approach init. It was coming nearer and nearer. It was significant and threatening.
For the first time that evening the ticking of the clock was alsoaudible. But the new sound, though somewhat in league with the ticking,and equally remorseless, did not come from the clock. It was a humansound, the most awful known to childhood. It was footsteps on thestairs!
Both the children and the story-teller heard it, but with differentresults. The latter stirred and looked about him, as though new hopeand strength had come to him. The former, led by Tim and Judy, brokesimultaneously into anxious speech. Maria, having slept profoundlysince the first mention of the mouse in its cosy pocket, gave no signat all.
"Oh, quick! quick! What did the squirrel whisper in his good right ear?What was it? DO hurry, please!"
"It whispered two simple words, each of one syllable," continued thereanimated figure, his voice lowered and impressive. "It said--_thesea_!"
The announcement made by the squirrel was so entirely unexpected thatthe surprise of it buried all memory of the disagreeable sound. Thechildren sat up and stared into the figure's face questioningly. Surelyhe had made a slight mistake. How could the sea have anything to dowith it? But no word was spoken, no actual question asked. Thisoverwhelming introduction of the sea left him poised far beyond theirreach. His stories were invariably marvellous. He would somehow justifyhimself.
"The Sea!" whispered Tim to Judy, and there was intense admiration inhis voice and eyes.
"From the top of its tree," resumed the figure triumphantly, "thesquirrel had seen what was happening, and made its great discovery. Itrealised why the ground was wetter and wetter every day, and also whythe island was small and growing smaller. For it understood the awfulfact that--the sea was rising! A little longer and the entire islandwould be under water, and everybody on it would be drowned!" "Couldn'tnone of them swim or anything?" asked Judy with keen anxiety.
"Hush!" put in Tim. "It's what did they _do?_ And who thought of itfirst?"
The question last but one was chosen for solution.
"The rabbit," announced the figure recklessly. "The rabbit saved them;and in saving them it saved the Island too. It founded Ingland, thisvery Ingland on which we live to-day. In fact, it started the BritishEmpire by its action. The rabbit did it."
"How? How?"
"It heard the squirrel's whisper half-way down its hole. It forgotabout its front teeth, and the moment it forgot them they, of course,stopped growing. It recovered all its courage. A grand idea had come toit. It came bustling out of its hiding-place, stood on its hind legs,poked its bright eyes over the window-ledge, and told them how toescape. It said, 'I'll dig my hole deeper and we'll empty the sea intoit as it rises. We'll pour the water down my hole!'"
The figure paused and fixed his eyes upon each listener in turn,challenging disapproval, yet eager for sympathy at the same time. Inplace of criticism, however, he met only silence and breathlessadmiration. Also--he heard that distant sound _they_ had forgotten, andrealised it had come much nearer. It had reached the second floor. Hemade swift and desperate calculations. He decided that it was _just_possible ... with ordinary good luck ...
"So they all went out and began to deepen the rabbit's hole. They dugand dug and dug. The man took off both his coats; the rabbit scrapedwith its four paws, using its tail as well--it had a nice long tail inthose days; the mouse crept out of his pocket and made channels withits little pointed toes; and the squirrel brushed and swept the waterin with its bushy, mop-like tail. The rising sea poured down theever-deepening hole. They worked with a will together; there was nocomplaining, though the rabbit wore its tail down till it was nothingbut a stump, and the mouse stood ankle-deep in water, and thesquirrel's fluffy tail looked like a stable broom. They worked likeheroes without stopping even to talk, and as the water went pouringdown the hole, the level of the sea, of course, sank lower and lowerand lower, the shores of the tiny island stretched farther and fartherand farther, till there were reaches of golden sand like Margate at lowtide, and as the level sank still lower there rose into view greatwhite cliffs of chalk where before there had been only water--until, atlast, the squirrel, scampering down from the tree where it had gone tosee what had been accomplished, reported in a voice that chattered withstammering delight, 'We're saved! The sea's gone down! The land's comeup!'"
The steps were audible in the passage. A gentle knock was heard. But noone answered, for it seemed that no one was aware of it. The figurepaused a
moment to recover breath.
"And then, and then? What happened next? Did they thank the rabbit?"
"They all thanked each other then. The man thanked the rabbit, and therabbit thanked the squirrel, and the mouse woke up, and--"
No one noticed the slip, which proved that their attention was alreadypainfully divided. For another knock, much louder than before, hadinterrupted the continuation of the story. The figure turned its headto listen. "It's nothing," said Tim quickly. "It's only a sound," saidJudy. "What did the mouse do? Please tell us quickly."
"I thought I heard a knock," the figure murmured. "Perhaps I wasmistaken. The mouse--er--the mouse woke up--"
"You told us that."
The figure continued, speaking with greater rapidity even than before:
"And looked about it, and found the view so lovely that it said itwould never live in a pocket again, but would divide its time in futurebetween the fields and houses. So it pricked its whiskers up, and thesquirrel curled its tail over its back to avoid any places that stillwere damp, and the rabbit polished its big front teeth on the grass andsaid it was quite pleased to have a stump instead of a tail as amemento of a memorable occasion when they had all been nearly drownedtogether, and--they all skipped up to the top of the high chalk cliffsas dry as a bone and as happy as--"
He broke off in the middle of the enormous sentence to say a mostridiculous and unnecessary thing. "Come in," he said, just as thoughthere was some one knocking at the door. But no single head was turned.If there was an entry it was utterly ignored.
"Happy as what?"
"As you," the figure went on faster than ever. "And that's why Englandto-day is an island of quite a respectable size, and why everybodypretends it's dry and comfortable and cosy, and why people never leaveit except to go away for holidays that cannot possibly be avoided."
"I beg your pardon, sir," began an awful voice behind the chair.
"And why to this day," he continued as though he had not heard, "asquirrel always curls its tail above its back, why a rabbit wears astump like a pen wiper, and why a mouse lives sometimes in a house andsometimes in a field, and--"
_"I beg your pardon, sir,"_ clanged the slow, awful voice in a tonethat was meant to be heard distinctly, "but it's long gone 'arf-pastsix, and--"
"Time for bed," added the figure with a sound that was like the fallingof an executioner's axe. And, as if to emphasise the arrival of theremorseless moment, the clock just then struck loudly on themantelpiece--seven times.
But for several minutes no one stirred. Hope, even at such moments, wasstronger than machinery of clocks and nurses. There was a generalbelief that somehow or other the moment that they dreaded, the momentthat was always coming to block their happiness, could be evaded andshoved aside. Nothing mechanical like that was wholly true. Daddy hadoften used queer phrases that hinted at it: "Some day--A day iscoming--A day will come"; and so forth. Their belief in a special Daywhen no one would say "Time" haunted them already. Yet, evidently thisevening was not the momentous occasion; for when Tim mentioned that theclock was fast, the figure behind the chair replied that she was halfan hour overdue already, and her tone was like Thompson's when he said,"Dinner's served." There was no escape this time.
Accordingly the children slowly disentangled themselves; they rose andstretched like animals; though all still ignored the figure behind thechair. A ball of stuff unrolled and became Maria. "Thank you, Daddy,"she said. "It was just lovely," said Judy. "But it's only thebeginning, isn't it?" Tim asked. "It'll go on to-morrow night?" And thefigure, having escaped failure by the skin of its teeth, kissed each inturn and said, "Another time--yes, I'll go on with it." Whereupon thechildren deigned to notice the person behind the chair. "We're comingup to bed now, Jackman," they mentioned casually, and disappearedslowly from the room in a disappointed body, robbed, unsatisfied, butvery sleepy. The clock had cheated them of something that properly wasendless. Maria alone made no remark, for she was already asleep inJackman's comfortable arms. Maria was always carried.
"Time's up," Tim reflected when he lay in bed; "time's always up. I dowish we could stop it somehow," and fell asleep somewhat gratifiedbecause he had deliberately not wound up his alarum-clock. He had thedelicious feeling--a touch of spite in it--that this would bother Timeand muddle it.
Yet Time, as a monster, chased him through a hundred dreams and thusrevenged itself. It pursued him to the very edge of the daylight, thenmocked him with a cold bath, lessons, and a windy sleet against thewindows. It was "time to get up" again.
Yet, meanwhile, Time helped and pleased the children by showing themits pleasanter side as well. It pushed them, gently but swiftly, up thelong hill of months and landed them with growing excitement into theopen country of another year. Since the rabbit, mouse, and squirrelfirst woke in their hearts the wonder of common things, they had allgrown slightly bigger. Time tucked away another twelve months behindtheir backs: each of them was a year older; and that in itself was fullof a curious and growing wonder.
For the birth of wonder is a marvellous, sweet thing, but therecognition of it is sweeter and more marvellous still. Its growth,perhaps, shall measure the growth and increase of the soul to whom itis as eyes and hands and feet, searching the world for signs of hidingReality. But its persistence--through the heavier years that wouldobliterate it--this persistence shall offer hints of something comingthat is more than marvellous. The beginning of wisdom is surely--Wonder.