They did not notice the reference to Time,
apparently.
The wanderer scratched his tangled crop of hair and seemed to
calculate a moment. He gazed down at the small white feather in his
hand. But the feather held quite still. No breath of wind was
stirring. "When I was young," he said, with an expression half
quizzical, half yearning. "When I first took to the road--as a boy--
and began to look."
"As long ago as that!" Tim murmured breathlessly. It was like a
stretch of history.
The Tramp put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I was about your age,"
he said, "when I got tired of the ordinary life, and started
wandering. And I've been wandering and looking ever since. Wandering--
and wondering--and looking--ever since," he repeated in the same slow
way, while the feather between his great fingers began to wave a
little in time with the dragging speech.
The wonder of it enveloped them all three like a perfume rising from
the entire earth.
"We've been looking for ages too," cried Judy.
"And we've seen him," exclaimed her brother quickly.
"Somebody," added Uncle Felix, more to himself than to the others.
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