THE EXTRA DAY
BEHIND _TIME_
I
The day broke. It broke literally. The sky gave way and burst asunder,scattering floods of radiant sunshine. This was the feeling in UncleFelix's heart as he came downstairs to breakfast in the schoolroom. Asensation of feathery lightness was in him, of speed as well: he couldrise above every obstacle in the world, only--there were no obstaclesin the world to rise above. Boredom, despair, and pessimism, hesuddenly realised, meant deficiency of energy merely. "Birds can riseabove everything--and so can I!"--as though he possessed a robin'snormal temperature of 110 degrees!
Although it was Sunday morning, and a dark suit was his usual custom,he had slipped into flannels and a comfortable low collar, withoutthinking about it one way or the other. "It's a jolly day," he hummedto himself, "and I'm alive. We must do all kinds of things--everything!It's all one thing really!" It seemed there was a new, uplifting senseof joy in merely being alive. He repeated the word again andagain--"alive, alive, alive!" Of course a robin sang: it was thenatural thing to do.
He looked out of the window while dressing, and caught the startlingimpression that this life emanated from the world of familiar trees andgrass and flowers spread out before his eyes. Everything was singing.Beauty had dropped down upon the earth; the earth, moreover, knew thatshe was beautiful--she was obviously enjoying herself, both as a wholeand in every tiniest nook and corner of her gigantic being. Yet withoutundue surprise he noted this; the marvel was there as always, but hedid not pause to say, "How marvellous!" It was as natural as breathing,and as easily accepted. He was always breathing, but he never stoppedand thought, "Good Lord, I'm breathing! How dreadful if it stopped!" Hesimply went on breathing. And so, with the beauty of this radiantmorning, it never occurred to him "This will not last, the sun willset, the shadows fall, the marvel pass and die." That this particularday could end did not even suggest itself.
On his way down the passage, Judy and Tim came dancing from their roomsto meet him. They, too, were dressed in their everyday-adventurethings, no special sign of Sunday anywhere about them--slipped intotheir summery clothing as naturally as birds and flowers grow into thebright and feathery stuff that covers them. This notion struck him, butfaintly; it was not a definite thought. He might as well have noticed,"Ah, the sky is dressed in light, or mist! The wind blows it into foldsand creases!" Yet the notion did strike him with its little dream-likehammer, because with it came a second tiny blow, producing, it seemed,a soft blaze of light behind his eyes somewhere: "I've recovered thechildhood sense of reality, the vivid certainty, the knowledge!...Somebody's coming.... Somebody's here--hiding still, perhaps, yetnearer..." It flashed like a gold-fish in some crystal summerfountain... and was gone again.
In the passage Judy touched his hand, and said confidingly, "You willtake me to the end of the world to-day, Uncle."
It was true and possible. No special preparation was required for anyjourney whatsoever. They were already prepared for anything--likebirds. And some one, it seemed, had taken his name away!
"We'll do everything at once," said Tim, with the utmost assurance intone and manner.
"Of course," was his obvious and natural reply to each, no explanationsor conditions necessary. Things would happen of themselves,spontaneously. There was only one thing to do! "We're alive," he added.They just looked at him as he said it, then pulled him down the passagea little faster than before. Yet the way they ran dancing along thatoil-cloth passage held something of the joy and confidence with whichbirds launch themselves into flight across the earth. There was thissense of spontaneous excitement and delight about.
"He's here already," Judy whispered, as they neared the breakfast room."I can feel it."
"Came in while we were asleep," her brother added. "I know it," and heclapped his hands.
"At dawn, yes," agreed Uncle Felix, saying it on the spur of themoment. He was perplexed a little, perhaps, but did not hesitate. Hehad not _quite_ the assurance of the others. He meant to let himselfgo, however.
There was not the slightest doubt or question anywhere; _they_ believedbecause they knew; what they had expected for so long had happened. TheStranger in the Tea-cup had arrived at last. They went down the longcorridor of the Old Mill House, every window open to the sunshine thatcame pouring in. The very walls seemed made of transparent, shiningpaper. The world came flowing in. A happiness of the glowing earth sangin their veins. At the door they paused a second.
"I know exactly who he is," breathed Judy softly.
"I know what he looks like," whispered Tim.
"There was never time to see him properly before," said Uncle Felix."Things went by so fast. He whizzed and vanished. But now--of course-"
They pushed the door open and went in.
Breakfast was already laid upon the shining cloth; hot dishes steamed;there were flowers upon the table, and climbing roses peeped in roundthe grey walls of sun-baked stone. A bird or two hopped carelessly uponthe window-sill, and a smell of earth and leaves was in the air.Sunshine, colour, and perfume filled the room to overflowing, yet notso full that there was not ample space for the "somebody" who hadbrought them. For somebody certainly was there--some one whom thechildren, moreover, took absolutely for granted.
There had been surprise outside the door, but there was none when theywere in. Something like a dream, it seemed, this absence ofastonishment, though, of course, no one took it in that way. For, atfirst, no one spoke at all. The children went to their places, liftingthe covers to see what there was to eat. They did the normal, naturalthing; eyed and sniffed the porridge, cream, brown sugar, andespecially approved the dish of comfortable, fat poached eggs on toast.They were satisfied with what they saw; everything was as it ought tobe--plentiful, available, on hand. There was enough for everybody.
But Uncle Felix paused a moment just inside the open door, and stared;he looked about him as though the incredible thing had really happenedat last. A rapt expression passed over his face, and his eyes seemedfixed upon something radiant that hung upon the air. He sighed, andcaught his breath. His heart grew amazingly light within him. Everythought and feeling that made up his personality--so it felt, atleast--had wings of silver tipped with golden fire.
"At last!" he murmured softly to himself, "at last!"
He moved forward slowly into the room, his eyes still fixed on vacancy.The face showed exquisite delight, but the lips were otherwise dumb. Helooked as if he had caught a glimpse of something he could not utter.
"Porridge, please, Uncle," he heard a voice saying, as some one put alarge silver spoon into his hand. "I like the hard lumps." And anothervoice added, "I like the soupy, slippery stuff, please." He pulledhimself together with an effort.
"Ah," he mumbled, peeping from the dishes at the children's faces, "thetea has stopped turning in the cup at last. He's come up to thesurface."
And they turned and looked at him, but without the least surpriseagain; it was perfectly natural, it seemed, that there should be thisPresence in the room; their Uncle's remark was neither here nor there.He had a right to express his own ideas in his own way if he wanted to.Their own remarks outside the door they had apparently forgotten. That,indeed, was already a very long time ago now. In the full bliss ofrealisation, anticipation was naturally not remembered. The excitementin the passage belonged to some dim Yesterday--almost when they werelittle.
They began immediately to talk _at_ the Stranger in the room.
"I didn't _hear_ anybody come," remarked Tim, as he mixed cream anddemerara sugar inside an artificial pool of porridge, "but it's all thesame--now. Our Somebody's here all right." And then, between gulps, headded, "The swallows laid an awful lot of eggs in the night, I think."
"On tiptoe just at dawn," remarked Judy casually, following her owntrain of thought, and intent upon chasing a slippery poached egg roundand round her plate at the same time. "The birds were awake, of course."
The birds! As she said it, a memory of some faint, exquisite
dream, ofyears and years ago it seemed, fled also on tiptoe through the bright,still air, and through three listening hearts as well. The robin, theswallows, and the up-and-under bird made secret signs and vanished.
"They know everything first, of course," said Uncle Felix aloud;"they're up so early, aren't they?" To himself he said, "I'm dreaming!This is a dream!" his reason still fluttering a little before it died.But he kept his secret about the robin tightly in its hiding-place.
"Before they've happened--_really_," Tim mentioned. "They do a thingto-morrow long before to-morrow's come." He knew something the otherscould not possibly know.
"Everything comes from the air, you see," advanced Judy, secure in thememory of her private morning interview. "But it can disappearunder--underneath when it wants to."
"Or into a hole," agreed Tim.
And somebody in that breakfast-room, somebody besides themselves, heardevery word they spoke, listened attentively, and understood themeanings they thought they hid so cleverly. They knew, moreover, thathe did so.
"Let's pretend," Tim suddenly exclaimed, catching his sister's eye justas it was wandering into the pot of home-made marmalade.
"All right," she said at once, "same as usual, I suppose?"
Tim nodded, glancing across the table. "Sitting next to _you_,Uncle"--he pointed to the unoccupied chair and unused plate--"in thatempty place."
"Thank you," murmured the man, still hovering between reality anddream. He said it shyly. It was all too marvellous to ask questionsabout, he felt.
"It's a lovely morning," continued Judy politely, smiling at the emptyplace. "Will you have tea and coffee, or milkhotwaterandsugar?" Shelistened attentively for the answer, the smile of a duchess on her rosyface, then bowed and handed a lump of sugar to Tim, who set itcarefully in the middle of the plate.
"Butter or honey?" inquired the boy, "or butter and honey?" He, too,waited for the inaudible reply, then asked his Uncle to pass the pot ofhoney _and_ the butter-dish. The Stranger, apparently, liked sweetthings best--at any rate, natural things.
They went on with their breakfast then, eating as much as ever theycould hold, talking about everything in the world as usual, andoccasionally bowing to the empty chair, addressing remarks to it, andlistening to--answers! Sometimes they passed things, too--another lumpof sugar, more drops of honey, a thick blob of clotted cream as well.It was obvious to them that somebody occupied that chair, so real,indeed, that Uncle Felix found himself passing things and makingobservations about the weather and even arranging a few crumbs of breadin a row beside the other delicacies. It was the right thing to doevidently; acting spontaneously, he had performed an inspired action.And the odd thing was that the food, lying in the blaze of sunlight onthe plate, slowly underwent a change: the sugar got smaller in size,the honey-drops diminished, the blob of cream lost its firstcircumference, and even the bread-crumbs seemed to dwindle visibly.
"It's very hot this morning," said Judy after a bit. "The sun'shungrier than usual," and she pushed the plate into the shade. But itwas clear that she referred to some one other than the sun, althoughthe sun belonged to what was going on. "Thirsty, too," she added,"although there are bucketsful of dew about."
"And extra bright into the bargain," declared Tim. "I love shiny stufflike that to wear and dress in. It fits so easily--no botheringbuttons."
"And doesn't wear out or stain, does it?" put in Uncle Felix, sayingthe first thing that came into his head--and again behaving in theappropriate, spontaneous manner. It was clear that the Stranger--tothem, at least--was clothed in the gold and silver of the brilliantmorning. There was a delicate perfume, too, as of wild flowers andsweet little roadside blossoms. The very air of the room was chargedwith some living light and beauty brought by the invisible guest. Itwas passing wonderful. The invading Presence seemed all about them likea spreading fire of loveliness and joy--yet natural as sunshine.
Then, suddenly, Tim sprang up from his chair, and ran to the emptyseat. His face shone with keen and eager expectancy, but wore a touchof shyness too.
"I want to be like you," he said in a hushed voice that had all theyearning of childhood breaking through it. "Please put your hand onme." He lowered his head and closed his eyes. He made an odd grimace,half pleasure and half awe, like a boy about to plunge into a pool ofwater,--then stood upright, proud and delighted as any victorious king.He drew a long breath of relief. He seemed astonished that it had beenso easily accomplished.
"I'm full of it!" he cried. "I'm burning! He touched me on the head!"
"Touched!" cried Judy, full herself of joy and happy envy.
The boy nodded his head, as though he would nod it off on to thetablecloth. He looked as if any minute he might burst into flame withthe sheer enjoyment of it. "Warm all over," he gasped. "I could strikea match on my trousers now like Weeden."
Then, while Uncle Felix rubbed his eyes and did his best to see theinvisible, Judy sprang lightly from her chair, ran up to the vacantplace, put out her arms and bent her face down so that her fallingtorrent of hair concealed it for a moment. She certainly put her armsround--something. The next minute she straightened up again withtriumph and tumult in her shining eyes.
"I kissed him," she announced, flushed like any rose, "and he kissed meback. He blew the wind into my hair as well. I'm flying! I'm lighterthan a feather!" And she went, dancing and flitting, round the tablelike a happy bird.
Then Uncle Felix rose sedately from his seat. He did not mean to beleft out of all this marvellous business merely because his body was alittle older and more worn. He stretched his arm across the table,missing the cream-jug by a narrow margin, but knocking the toast-rackover in his eagerness. He held his hand out to the empty chair.
"Please take my hand," he said, "and let me have something too."
He went through the pantomime of shaking hands, but to his intenseamazement it seemed that there was an answering clasp. A smooth, softrunning touch closed gently on his own; it was cool and yielding,delicate as the down upon a robin's breast, yet firm as steel. And inthat moment he knew that his glimpse on entering the room was not atrick, but had been a passing glimpse of what the children alwaysbelieved in, hoped for--saw.
"Thank you," he murmured, withdrawing his hand and examining it, "verymuch indeed. This _is_ a beautiful day."
An extraordinary power came into him, a feeling of confidence andsecurity and joy he had never known before. Yet all he could find tosay was that it was a very beautiful day. The commonest speechexpressed exactly what he felt. Ordinary words at last had meaning,small words could tell it.
"It's all right?" remarked Tim, in an excited but quite natural tone.
"It _is_," he answered.
"Then let's go out now and do all sorts of things. There's simply heapsto do."
"Out into the sun," cried Judy. "Come on. We'll get into our old gardenboots." And she dragged her brother headlong out of the room.