Somebody--but Somebody
who was not there--owed them a proper explanation about it. The burden
of apology or excuse was lifted instantly from Uncle Felix's
shoulders, for, obviously, he had nothing to do with the reason for
their being in the world.
Without a moment's hesitation he flung his arms out, let the pipe fall
from his lips, and--burst into song:
Why should there be anything?
Why should we be here?
It isn't where we come from,
But why should we appear?
It's really inexplicable,
Extr'ordinary, queer:
Why _should_ we come and talk a bit,
And then--just disappear?
"Why, why, why?" shouted the two elder children. The air was filled
with flying "whys." They tried to sing the verse.
"Let's dance it," cried Judy, leaping to her feet. "Give us the words
again, please." She picked up the clock and plumped it down into
Maria's uncertain lap. "You beat time," she ordered. "It's the tune of
'Onward Christian Soldiers.'"
Maria, disinclined to budge unless obliged to, did nothing.
"It's a beastly tune," Tim supported her. "I hate those Sunday hymn
tunes. They're not real a bit."
He watched Judy and his Uncle capering hand in hand among the flower-
beds.
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