She felt very sure of something, although
she didn't in the least know what. It was the same thing that Tim and
Uncle Felix knew, only they knew they didn't know it, whereas she
didn't know she knew it. Her knowledge, therefore, was greater than
theirs.
The room was touched with soft grey light; it was to the west, and the
night still clung about the furniture. Like a ball in a saucer, Maria
lay asleep in bed against the opposite wall, her neutrality to all
that was going on absolute as usual. But Judy did not wake her, she
preferred to live alone; she knew that she was alive in her night-gown
between night and morning, and that was an unusual pleasure she wished
to enjoy without interference. For months she had not waked before
half-past seven. The excitement of the unfamiliar was in her heart.
She had caught the earth asleep--surprised it. For the first time in
her life she saw "the Earth." She discovered it.
She knelt on a chair beside the open window, peering out, and as she
did so, a strange, wild cry came sounding through the stillness. It
was like a bugle-call, but she knew no human lips had made it. She
glanced quickly in the direction whence it came--the pond--and the
next instant the reeds about the edge parted and the thing that had
emitted the curious wild cry emerged plainly into view.
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