Play with us as you play with trees
and clouds and sleeping flowers along the hedgerows."
A singing, whistling sound passed softly round the room; there was a
whirr and a flutter as when a flight of bees or birds goes down the
sky, and a voice, a plaintive yet happy voice, like the plover who cry
to each other on the moors, was audible:
"I run about the world at night,
Yet cannot see;
My hair has grown so thick these millions years,
It covers me.
So, like a big, blind thing
I run about,
And know all things by touching them.
I touch them with my wings;
I know each one of you
By touching you;
I touch your _hearts_!"
"I feel you!" cried Judy. "I feel you touching me!"
"And I, and I!" the others cried. "It's simply wonderful!"
An enormous sigh of happiness went through that darkened room.
"Then play with me!" they heard. "Oh, children, play with me!"
The wild, high sweetness in the windy voice was irresistible. The
children rose with one accord. It was too dark to see, but they flew
about the room without a fault or slip. There was no stumbling; they
seemed guided, lifted, swept.
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