HIDE-AND-SEEK
III
The garden clung close and soft about the Old Mill House as a moodclings about the emotion that has summoned it. Uncle Felix, Tim, andJudy were as much a part of it as the lilac, hyacinths, and tulips. Anyminute, it seemed, the butterflies and bees and birds might settle onthem too.
For a bloom of exquisite, fresh wonder lay upon the earth, lay softlyand secure as though it need never pass away. No fading of daylightcould dim the glory of all the promises of joy the day contained, nohint of waning anywhere. "There is no hurry," seemed written on thevery leaves and blades of grass. "We're all alive together! Comeand--look!" The garden, lying there so gently in its beauty, hid asecret.
Yet, though all was so calm and peaceful, there was nowhere the dulnessof stagnation. Life brimmed the old-world garden with incessantmovement that flashed dancing and rhythm even into things calledstationary. The joy of existence ran riot everywhere without check orhindrance; there was no time--to pause and die. For the sunlight didnot merely lie upon the air--it poured; wind did not blow--it breathed,ambushed one minute among the rose-trees just above the ground, andcantering next through the crests of the busy limes. The elms andhorse-chestnuts that ordinarily grew now leaped--leaped upwards to thesun; while all flying things--birds, insects, bees, andbutterflies--passed in and out like darting threads of colour, pinningthe beauty into a patterned tapestry for all to see. The entire day wascharged with the natural delight of endless, sheer existence. It wasvisible.
Each detail, moreover, claimed attention, as though never seen properlybefore; no longer dulled by familiarity, but shaking off its "ordinary"appearance, proud to be looked at, naked and alive. The rivulet ran on,but did not run away; the gravel paths, soft as rolled brown sugar, ledsomewhere, but led in both directions, each of them inviting; the blueof the sky did not stay "up there and far away," but dropped down closein myriad flakes, lifting the green carpet of the lawn to meet it. Theday seemed like a turning circle that changed every moment to showanother aspect of its gorgeous pattern, yet, while changing, onlyturned, unable to grow older or to pass away. There was something realat last, something that could be known, enjoyed--something of eternityabout it. It was real.
"Wherever has he got to?" exclaimed Judy, trying to pierce thedistances of earth and sky with distended eyes. "He can't be very faraway, because--I kissed him."
Tim, sitting beside her on the grass, felt the exquisite mystery of ittoo. It was marvellous that any one could vanish in such a way. But hehesitated too. He felt uncertain about something. His thoughts flew offto that strange wood he loved to play in. He remembered the warning:"Beware the centre, if you enter; For once you're _there_, youdisappear!" But this explanation did not appeal to him as likely now.He stared at Judy and his uncle. Some one _had_ touched him, making himwarm and happy. He remembered that distinctly. He had caught aglimpse--though a glimpse too marvellous to be seen for long, even tobe remembered properly. "But there's no good looking unless we knowwhere to look," he remarked. "Is there?"
"He's just gone out like a candle," whispered Judy.
"Extror'nary," declared her brother, hugging the excitement thatthrilled his heart. "But he can't be really lost. I'm sure of that!"
And a great hush fell upon them all. Some one, it seemed, waslistening; some one was watching; some one was waiting for them to move.
"Uncle?" they said in the same breath together, then hung upon hisanswer.
This authority hesitated a moment, looking about him expectantly asthough for help.
"I think," he stated shyly, "I think--he's--hiding."
Nothing more wonderful ever fell from grown-up lips. They had heard itsaid before--but only said. Now they realised it.
"Hiding!" They stood up; they could see further that way. But theywaited for more detail before showing their last approval.
"Out here," he added.
They were not quite sure. They expected a disclosure more out of theordinary. It _might_ be true, but--
"Hide-and-seek?" they repeated doubtfully. "But that's just a game."They were unsettled in their minds.
"Not _that_ kind," he replied significantly. "I mean the kind the rainplays with the wind and leaves, the stream with the stones and rootsalong its bank, the rivers with the sea. That's the kind ofhide-and-seek I mean!"
He chose instinctively watery symbols. And his tone conveyed somethingso splendid and mysterious that it was impossible to doubt or hesitatea moment longer.
"Oh," they exclaimed. "It never ends, you mean?"
"Goes on for ever and ever," he murmured. "The moment the river findsthe sea it disappears and the sea begins to look. The wind never reallyfinds the clouds, and the sun and the stars--"
"_We_ know!" they shouted, cutting his explanations short.
"Come on then!" he cried. "We've got the hunt of our lives before us."And he began to run about in a circle like an animal trying to catchits tail.
"But are we to look for him, or he for us?" inquired the boy, after apreliminary canter over the flower-beds.
"We for him." They sprang to attention and clapped their hands.
"It's an enormous hide," said Tim. "We may get lost ourselves. Betterlook out!"
And then they waited for instructions. But the odd thing was that theiruncle waited too. There was this moment's hesitation. They looked tohim. The old fixed habit asserted itself: a grown-up must surely knowmore than they did. How could it be otherwise? In this case, however,the grown-up seemed in doubt. He looked at them. It _was_ otherwise.
"It's so long since I played this kind of hide-and-seek," he murmured."I've rather forgotten--"
He stopped short. There certainly was a difficulty. Nobody knew in whatdirection to begin.
"It's a snopportunity," exclaimed Judy. "I'm sure of that!"
"We just look--everywhere!" cried Tim.
A light broke over their uncle's face as if a ray of sunshine touchedit. His mind cleared. Some old, forgotten joy, wonderful as the dawn,burst into his heart, rose to fire in his eyes, flooded his wholebeing. A glory long eclipsed, a dream interrupted years ago, anuncompleted game of earliest youth--all these rose from theirhiding-place and recaptured him, soul and body. He glanced at thechildren. These things he had recaptured, they, of course, had neverlost; this state and attitude of wonder was their natural prerogative;he had recovered the ownership of the world, but they had possessed italways. They knew the whole business from beginning to end--only theyliked to hear it stated. That was obviously his duty as a grown-up: tostick the label on.
"Of course," he whispered, deliciously enchanted. "You've got it. It's_the_ snopportunity! The great thing is to--look."
And, as if to prove him right, a flock of birds passed sweeping throughthe air above their heads, paused in mid-flight, wheeled, flutterednoisily a second, then scattered in all directions like leaves whirledby an eddy of loose, autumn wind.
"Come on," cried Tim, remembering perhaps the "dodgy" butterfly andtrying to imitate it with his arms and legs. "I know where to go first.Just follow me!"
"And there'll be signs, remember," Uncle Felix shouted as he followed."Whoever finds a sign must let the others know at once."
They began with the feeling that they would discover the Stranger in amoment, sure of the places where he had tried cleverly to concealhimself, but soon began to realise that this was no ordinary game, andthat he certainly knew of mysterious spots and corners they had neverdreamed about. It was as Tim declared, "an enormous hide." Come-BackStumper's cunning dive into bed was nothing compared to the skill withwhich this hider eluded their keen searching. There was anotherdifference too. In Stumper's case their interest had waned, they feltthey had been cheated somehow, they knew themselves defeated and hadgiven up the search. But here the interest was unfailing; it increasedrather than diminished; they were ever on the very edge of finding him,and more than once they shrieked with joy, "I've got him!"--only tofind they had been "very hot" but not quite hot enough. It wa
s, likeeverything else upon this happy morning, endless.
It continued and continued, as naturally as the rivulet that ran forever downhill to find the sea, that nothing, it seemed, could put astop to, much less an end. The feeling that time was passing utterlydisappeared; weeks, months, and years lay waiting somewhere near, butcould be left or taken, used or not used, as they pleased. To take aweek and use it was like picking a flower that looked much prettiergrowing sweetly in the sunny earth. Why pick it? It came to an end thatway! The minutes, the hours and days, morning, noon and night as well,the very seasons too, offered themselves, and--vanished. They did notcome and go, they were just "there"; and to steal into one or other ofthem at will was like stealing into one mood after another as the heartdecreed. They were mere counters in the gorgeous and unending game.They helped to hide the mysterious Stranger who was evidently in thecentre round which all life lay grouped so marvellously. They hid andcovered him as moods hide and cover the heart that wearsthem--temporarily. Uncle Felix and the children used them somewhat inthis way, it seems, for while they looked and hunted in and out amongthem, any minute, day or season was recoverable at will. They did notpass away. It was the seekers who passed through them. To Uncle Felix,at any rate, it seemed a fact--this joyous sensation of immenseduration, yet of nothing passing away: the bliss of utter freedom. Hegasped to realise it. But the children did not gasp. They had alwaysknown that nothing ever really came to an end. "The weather's stillhere," he heard Judy calling across the lawn to Tim--as though she hadjust been looking among December snowdrifts and had popped back againinto the fragrance of midsummer hayfields. "The Equator's made ofgolden butterflies, all shining," the boy called back, having evidentlyjust been round the world and seen its gleaming waist....
But none of them had found what they were looking for....
They had looked in all the difficult places where a clever player wouldbe most likely to conceal himself, yet in vain; there was no definitesign of him, no footprints on the flower-beds or along the edge of theshrubberies. The garden proper had been searched from end to endwithout result. The children had been to the particular hiding-placeseach knew best, Tim to the dirty nook between the ilex and the larderwindow, and Judy to the scooped-out trunk of the rotten elm, and bothtogether to the somewhat smelly channel between the yew trees and adisused outhouse--all equally untenanted.
In the latter gloomy place, in fact, they met. No sunlight pierced thedense canopy of branches; it was barely light enough to see. Judy andTim advanced towards each other on tiptoe, confident of discovery atlast. They only realised their mistake at five yards' distance.
"You!" exclaimed Tim, in a disappointed whisper. "I thought it wasgoing to be a sign." "I felt positive he'd be in here somewhere," saidJudy.
"Perhaps we're both signs," they declared together, then paused, andheld a secret discussion about it all.
"He's got a splendid hide," was the boy's opinion. "D'you think UncleFelix knows anything? You heard what he said about signs...!"
They decided without argument that he didn't. He just went "thumpingabout" in the usual places. He'd never find him. They agreed it wasvery wonderful. Tim advanced his pet idea--it had been growing on him:"I think _he_ knows some special place we'd never look in--a hole orsomething." But Judy met the suggestion with superior knowledge: "Hemoves about," she announced. "He doesn't stop in a hole. He flies at anawful rate--from place to place. That's--signs, I expect."
"Wings?" suggested Tim.
Judy hesitated. "You remember--at breakfast, wasn't it?--ages and agesago--all had wings--those things--"
She broke off and pointed significantly at the figure of Uncle Felixwho was standing with his head cocked up at an awkward angle, staringinto the sky. Shading his eyes with one hand, he was apparentlyexamining the topmost branches of the tall horse-chestnuts.
"He couldn't have got up a tree, could he, or into a bird's nest?" saidthe girl. She offered the suggestion timidly, yet her brother did notlaugh at her. There was this strange feeling that the hider might beanywhere--simply anywhere. This was no ordinary game.
"There's such a lot," Tim answered vaguely.
She looked at him with intense admiration. The wonder of thismarvellous game was in their hearts. The moment when they would findhim was simply too extraordinary to think about.
Judy moved a step closer in the darkness. "Can he get small, then--likethat?" she whispered.
But the question was too much for Tim.
"Anyhow he gets about, doesn't he?" was the reply, the vagueness ofuncertain knowledge covering the disappointment. "There are simplymillions of trees and nests and--and rabbit-holes all over the place."
They were silent for a moment. Then Judy asked, still more timidly:
"I say, Tim?"
"Well."
"What does he really look like? I can't remember quite. I mean--shallwe recognise him?"
Tim stared at her. "My dear!" he gasped, as though the question almostshocked him. "Why, he touched me--on the head! I felt it!"
Judy laughed softly; it was only that she wanted to remind herself ofsomething too precious to be forgotten.
"_I_ kissed him!" she whispered, a hint of triumph in her voice andeyes.
They stood staring at one another for a little while, weighing theproofs thus given; then Tim broke the silence with a question of hisown. It was the result of this interval of reflection. It was anunexpected sort of question:
"Do you know what it is we want?" he asked. "I do," he added hurriedly,lest she should answer first.
"What?" she said, seeing from his tone and manner that it was important.
"We shall never, never find him this way," he said decisively.
"What?" she repeated with impatience.
Tim lowered his voice. "What we want," he said with the emphasis oftrue conviction, "is--a Leader."
Judy repeated the word after him immediately; it was obvious; whyhadn't she thought of it herself? "Of course," she agreed. "That's itexactly."
"We're looking wrong somewhere," her brother added, and they bothturned their heads in the direction of Uncle Felix who was stillstanding on the lawn in a state of bewilderment, examining thetreetops. He expected something from the air, it seemed. Perhaps he waslooking for rain--he loved water so. But evidently he was not a properleader; he was even more bewildered than themselves; he, too, waslooking wrong somewhere, somehow. They needed some one to show them howand where to look. Instinctively they felt their uncle was no better atthis mighty game than they were. If only somebody who knew andunderstood--a leader--would turn up!
And it was just then that Judy clutched her brother by the arm and saidin a startled whisper, "Hark!"
They harked. Through the hum of leaves and insects that filled the airthis sweet June morning they heard another sound--a voice that reachedthem even here beneath the dense roof of shrubbery. They heard wordsdistinctly, though from far away, rising, falling, floating across thelawn as though some one as yet invisible were singing to himself.
For it was the voice of a man, and it certainly was a song. Moreover,without being able to explain it exactly, they felt that it was justthe kind of singing that belonged to the kind of day: it was right andnatural, a fresh and windy sound in the careless notes, almost asthough it was a bird that sang. So exquisite was it, indeed, that theylistened spellbound without moving, standing hand in hand beneath thedark bushes. And Uncle Felix evidently heard it too, for he turned hishead; instead of examining the tree-tops he peered into the rose treesjust behind him, both hands held to his ears to catch the happy song.There was both joy and laughter in the very sound of it:
My secret's in the wind and open sky; There is no longer any Time--to lose; The world is young with laughter; we can fly Among the imprisoned hours as we choose. The rushing minutes pause; an unused day Breaks into dawn and cheats the tired sun. The birds are singing. Hark! Come out and play! There is no hurry; life has just begun.
Th
e voice died away among the rose trees, and the birds burst into achorus of singing everywhere, as if they carried on the song amongthemselves. Then, in its turn, their chorus also died away. Tim lookedat his sister. He seemed about to burst--if not into song, then into athousand pieces.
"A leader!" he exclaimed, scarcely able to get the word out in hisexcitement. "Did you hear it?"
"Tim!" she gasped--and they flew out, hand in hand still, to join theiruncle in the sunshine.
"Found anything?" he greeted them before they could say a word. "Iheard some one singing--a man, or something--over there among the rosetrees--"
"And the birds," interrupted Judy. "Did you hear them?"
"Uncle," cried Tim with intense conviction, "it's a sign. I do believeit's a sign--"
"That's exactly what it is," a deep voice broke in behind them "--asign; and no mistake about it either."
All three turned with a start. The utterance was curiously slow; therewas a little dragging pause between each word. The rose trees parted,and they found themselves face to face with some one whom they had seentwice before in their lives, and who now made his appearance for thethird time therefore--the man from the End of the World: the Tramp.