One day, some
day, next day, or the day after to-morrow--and it would suddenly be
there beside them.
Whence came this great Expectancy they never questioned, nor what it
was exactly, nor who had planted it. This was a mystery, one of the
things that no one can understand. They felt it: that was all they
knew. It was more than Wonder, for Wonder was merely the sign and
proof that they were seeking. It was faint and exquisite in them, like
some far, sweet memory they could never quite account for, nor wholly,
even once, recapture. They remembered almost--almost before they were
born.
"We'll have a look now," Uncle Felix would say every walk they took;
but before they got very far it was always time to come in again.
"That's the bother of everything," he agreed with them. "Time always
prevents, doesn't it? If only we could make it stop--get behind time,
as it were--we might have a chance. Some day, perhaps, we shall."
He left the matter there, but they never forgot that pregnant remark
about stopping time and getting in behind it. No, they never forgot
about it. At Christmas, Easter, and the like, it came so near that
they could almost smell it, but when these wonderful times were past
they looked back and knew it had not really come.
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