" Time sighed audibly on Sunday.
"It's our last day, anyhow," they agreed, determined to live in the
present and enjoy Saturday to the full.
It was then Uncle Felix, having overheard their comments upon Time,
looked round abruptly and made one of his startling remarks. "To-
morrow," he said, "is one of the most wonderful days that was ever
invented. You'll see."
And the way he said it provided the very thrill that was needed to
chase the shadow from the sun. For there was a hint of promise in his
voice that almost meant he had some way of delaying the arrival of
Black Monday.
"You'll see," he repeated significantly, shading his eyes with both
hands and peering up at the sun.
Tim and Judy watched him with keen faces. They noticed that he said
"to-morrow" instead of "Sunday." But before they could squeeze out a
single question, there came a remarkable interruption from below. From
somewhere near the ground it came. Maria, seated on a flower-pot whose
flower didn't want to grow, opened her mouth and spoke. As is already
known, this did not often happen. It was her characteristic to keep it
closed. Even at the dentist's she never could be got to open her
mouth, because he had once hurt her; she flatly refused to do so, and
no amount of "Now open, please," ever had the least effect on her firm
decision.
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