It dropped closer, rushed headlong past
the window, rattled and shook the sash, then dived away into the
darkness. Its violence startled them. A deep lull followed instantly,
and the little tapping of the twig was heard again. Odd! Just when the
Night-Wind seemed furthest off it was all the time quite near. It had
not really gone at all; it was hiding against the outside walls. It
was watching them, trying to get in. The tapping continued for half a
minute or more--a series of hurried, gentle little knocks as from a
child's smallest finger-tip.
"It wants to come in. It's trying," whispered some one.
"It's awfully shy."
"It's lonely and frightfully unhappy."
"It likes us and wants to play."
There was another pause and silence. No one knew quite what to do.
"There's too much light. Let's put the lamp out," said a genius, using
the voice of Judy.
As though by way of answer there followed instantly a sudden burst of
wind. The torrent of it drove against the house; it boomed down the
chimney, puffing an odour of soot into the room; it shook the door
into the passage; it lifted an edge of carpet, flapping it.
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