Whether it saw with eyes, or just felt
its way about like a blind thing, wandering, was another secret matter
undetermined. Each child visualised it differently. Its hiding-place
in the daytime was equally unknown. Owls, bats, and burglars guessed
its habits best, and that it came out of a hole in the sky was,
perhaps, the only detail all unanimously agreed upon. It was a
pathetic being rather.
This Night-Wind used to come crying round the bedroom windows
sometimes, and the children liked it, although they did not understand
all its melancholy beauty. They heard the different voices in it,
although they did not catch the meaning of the words it sang. They
heard its footsteps too. Its way of moving awed them. Moreover, it was
for ever trying to get in.
"It's wings," said Judy, "big, dark wings, very soft and feathery."
"It's a woman with sad, black eyes," thought Tim, "that's how I like
it."
"It's some one," declared Maria, who was asleep before it came, so
rarely heard it at all. And they turned to Uncle Felix who knew all
that sort of thing, or at any rate could describe it. He found the
words. They lay hidden in his thick back hair apparently--there was
little on the top!--for he always scratched his head a good deal when
they asked him questions about such difficult matters.
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