The boy had moved up
closer to him. "And if anything happens one of us must climb a tree
and signal. _You've_ got the clean handkerchief. You see, it's at the
centre that it gets rather nasty--because anybody who gets there
simply disappears and is never heard of again. That's why there's no
centre at all _really_. It's a terrible rescue we've got to do."
The adventure fulfilled the desire of his heart, for, since there was
no centre, the search would last for ever.
"Keep a sharp look-out for the sign," replied the man, feeling a small
hand steal into his own. "We'd better go in before it gets any
darker."
"Oh, that's nothing," was the whispered comment. "The great thing is
not to lose our way. Just follow me!"
They then went into this wood without a centre, without a middle,
without a heart. Into this heartless wood they moved stealthily, Uncle
Felix singing under his breath to keep his courage up:
"A wood is a mysterious place,
It never looks you in the face,
But stares _behind_ you all the time.
Your safest plan is just to--climb!
For, otherwise you lose your way,
The week, the month, the time of day;
It turns you round, it makes you blind,
And in the end you lose your mind!
Avoid the centre,
If you enter!
"It grows upon you--grows immense,
Its peace is _not_ indifference,
It sees you--and it takes offence,
It knows you're interfering.
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