And the others--how
funny they were, too! They looked like an elephant and a bird, he
thought, for Judy hopped and fluttered, while his Uncle moved heavily,
making holes in the soft lawn with his great feet. "Beat time, beat
time!" cried Judy at intervals.
What a queer phrase it was--to _beat_ time. Why beat it? It wasn't
there unless it was beaten. Poor Time; and Maria refused to beat it.
His eye wandered from Maria to the dancers, and a kind of reverie
stole over him. What was the use of dancing unless there was something
to dance round? Maria was round; why didn't they dance round her? His
thoughts returned to Maria. How funny Maria was! She just sat there
doing nothing at all. Maria was dull and unenterprising, yet somehow
everything came round to her in the end. It was just because she
waited, she never hurried. She was a sort of centre. Only it must be
rather stupid just to be a centre. Then, suddenly, two ideas struck
him at the same instant, scattering his dreamy state of reverie. The
first was--Everything comes from a centre like Maria; _that's_ where
everything comes from! The second, bearing no apparent relation to it,
found expression in words:
He cried out: "I know what! Let's go to the End of the World and make
a fire and burn things!"
And he looked at Maria as though he had discovered America.
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