CHAPTER XVIII
TIME GOES ON AGAIN---
Hardly had Judy closed her eyes for the second time, however, than theglobular object she had noticed in the corner stirred. It turned, butturned all over, as though it were a ball. It made a sideways movementtoo, a movement best described as budging. And, accompanying themovements, was a comfortable, contented, satisfied sound that somepeople call deep breathing, and others call a sigh.
The globular outline then grew slightly longer; one portion of it leftthe central mass, but left it slowly. The lower part prolonged itself.Slight cracks were audible like sharp reports, muffled but quitedistinct. Next, the other end of the ball extended itself, twisted in aleisurely fashion sideways, rose above the general surface and plainlyshowed itself. It, too, was round. It emerged. Upon its surface shonetwo small pools of blue. It was a face. Even in the grey, uncertainlight this was beyond dispute. It was Maria's face.
Maria awoke. She looked about her calmly. Her mind, ever uncloudedbecause it thought of one thing only, took in the situation at aglance. It was dawn, she was in bed and sleepy, it was not time to getup. Dawn, sleep, bed and time belonged to her. There certainly was nohurry.
The pools of blue then disappeared together, the smaller ball sank downinto the pillow to join the larger one, the lower portion that hadstretched itself drew in again, and a peaceful sigh informed theuniverse that Maria intended to resume her interrupted slumbers. Shebecame once more a mere globular outline, self-contained, at rest.
But, in accepting life as it really was by lying down again, the lesserball had imperceptibly occupied a new position. Maria's head hadshifted. Her ear now pressed against another portion of the pillow. Andthis pressure, communicating itself to an object that lay beneath thepillow, touched a small brass handle, jerked it forward, released a bitof quivering wire connected with a set of wheels, and set in motion theentire insides of this hidden object. There was a sound of grating.This hard, metallic sound rose through the feathers, a clicking,thudding noise that reached her brain. It was--she knew instantly--thestopped alarum clock. It had been overwound. The weight of her head hadstarted it again.
Maria, as usual, by doing nothing in particular, had accomplished much.By yielding herself to her surroundings, she united her insignificantpersonal forces with the gigantic purposes of Life. She swungcontentedly in rhythm with the universe. Maria had set the clock goingagain!
There was excitement in her then, but certainly no hurry. Disturbingherself as little as possible, she pushed one hand beneath the pillow,drew out the ticking clock, looked at it quietly, remembered sleepilythat it had stopped at dawn--Uncle Felix had said so--put it on thechair beside her bed, and promptly retired again into her eternalcentre.
"Tim's clock," she realised, "but I've got it." There was no expressionon her face whatever. Another child might have taken the trouble--feltinterested, at any rate--to try and see what time it was. But Maria,aware that the dim light would make this a difficult and tediousoperation, did nothing of the sort. It could make no difference anyhowto any one, anywhere! She was content to know that it was some time orother, and that the clock was going again. Her plan of life was:interfere with nothing. She did not know, therefore, that the handspointed with accuracy to 4 A. M., because she merely did not care toknow. But, not caring to know placed her on a loftier platform ofintelligence than the rest of the world--certainly above that of hersister, Judy, who was snoring softly among the shadows just across theroom. Maria didn't know that she didn't know. No one could rebuke herwith "You might have known," much less "You didn't know,"--because shedidn't know she didn't know! It was the biggest kind of knowledge inthe world. Maria had it.
But before she actually regained her absolute centre, and long beforeshe lost sight of herself within its depths, dim thoughts came floatingthrough her mind like pictures that moonlight paints upon high summerclouds. She saw these pictures; that is, she looked at them andrecognised their existence; but she asked no questions. They reachedher through the ticking of the busy clock beside the bed; the tickingbrought them; but it brought them back. Maria remembered things. Andchief among them were the following: That Uncle Felix had promisedeverybody an Extra Day, that he had stopped all the clocks to let itcome, that this Extra Day was to be her own particular adventure, thatlast night was Saturday, and that this was, therefore, Sunday morning,very early.
And the instant she remembered these things, they were real--for her.She accepted them, one and all, even the contradictions in them. Ifthis was actually an Extra Day it could not be Sunday morning too, and_vice versa_. But yet she knew it was. Both were. The confusion was aconfusion of words only. There were too many words about.
"Why not?" expressed her attitude. The clock might tick itself to deathfor all she cared. The Extra Day was her adventure and she claimed it.But she did not bother about it.
Above all, she asked no questions. Nothing really meant anything inparticular, because everything meant everything. To ask questions, evenof herself, involved hearing a lot of answers and listening to them.But answers were explanations, and explanations muddled and obscured.Explanations were a new set of questions merely. People who didn't knowasked questions, and people who didn't understand gave explanations.Aunt Emily explained--because she didn't understand. Also, because shedidn't understand, she didn't know. To ask a question was the samething as to explain it. Everything was one thing. She, Maria, both knewand understood.
She did not say all this, she did not think it even; she just felt itall: it was her feeling. Believing in her particular adventure of anExtra Day, she had already experienced it. She had shared it with theothers too. It was _her_ Extra Day, so she could do with it what shepleased. "They can have it," she gave the clock to understand. "I'mgoing to sleep again." All life was an extra day to her.
She went to sleep; sleep, rather, came to her. Happy dreams amused andcomforted her. And, while she dreamed, the dawn slid higher up the sky,ushering in--Sunday Morning.