"What is it
_really_--the Night-Wind?" they asked gravely; "and why does it sound
so _very_ different from the wind in the morning or the afternoon?"
"There _is_ a difference," he replied carefully. "It's a quick, dark,
rushing thing, and it moves like--like anything."
"We know _that_," they told him.
"And it has long hair," he added hurriedly, looking into Tim's staring
eyes. "That's what makes it swish. The swishing, rushing, hushing
sound it makes--that's its hair against the walls and tiles, you see."
"It _is_ a woman, then?" said Tim proudly. All looked up, wondering.
An extraordinary thing was in the air. A mystery that had puzzled them
for ages was about to be explained. They drew closer round the sofa,
and Maria blundered against the table, knocking some books off with a
resounding noise. It was their way of reminding him that he had
promised. "Hush, hush!" said Uncle Felix, holding up a finger and
glancing over his shoulder into the darkened room. "It may be coming
now... Listen!"
"Yes, but it is a woman, isn't it?" insisted Tim, in a hurried
whisper. He had to justify himself before his sisters.
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