"Of course," replied Uncle Felix, nodding his great head, "of course.
Sooner or later one of these lost Extra Days is bound to crop up. And
what's more--" he glanced down significantly at the stopped alarum-
clock--"I think--"
He broke off in the middle of the sentence. They all stood up. Tim
picked up the clock and handed it to his uncle, who held it tightly
against his chest a moment, then put it into his capacious pocket.
"I think," he went on enormously, "it's come!"
An entire minute passed without a sound.
"We can fill it with anything we like?" asked Judy, overawed a little.
"Anything we like," came the sublime reply.
"And do things over and over again--sort of double--and no hurry?" Tim
whispered.
"Anything, anywhere, anyhow, and no end to it all," he answered
gloriously. "No hurry either!" It was too much to think about all at
once, too big to realise. They all sat down again beside Maria, who
had not moved an inch in any direction at all. She was a picture of
sublime repose.
"We have only got to find it, then climb into it, then sail away,"
murmured Uncle Felix, with a strange catch in his breath they readily
understood.
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