The sound of happy, laughing voices
filled the air. They caught the Wind, and let it go again; they chased
it round the table and the sofa; they held it in their arms until it
panted with delight, half smothered into silence, then marvellously
escaping from them on the elastic, flying feet that tread on forests,
clouds, and mountain tops. It rushed and darted, drove them, struck
them lightly, pushed them suddenly from behind, then met their faces
with a puff and shout of glee. It caught their feet; it blew their
eyelids down. Just when they cried, "It's caught! I've got it in my
hands!" it shot laughing up against the ceiling, boomed down the
chimney, or whistled shrilly as it escaped beneath the crack of the
door into the passage. The keyhole was its easiest escape. It grew
boisterous, singing with delight, yet was never for a moment rough. It
cushioned all its blows with feathers.
"Where are you now? I felt your hair all over me. You've gone again!"
It was Judy's voice as she tore across the floor.
"You're whacking me on the head!" cried Tim. "Quick, quick! I've got
you in my hands!" He flew headlong over the sofa where Maria sat
clutching the bolster to prevent being blown on to the carpet.
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