"Sea and land and air
together. But more than that--he hides deep and beautiful."
"Deeply and beautifully," murmured the writer of historical novels,
all of them entirely forgotten now.
"Deep and beautiful," repeated the other, as though he preferred the
rhythm of his own expression. He drew himself up and swallowed a long
and satisfying draught of air and sunshine. He waved the little
wagtail's feather before their eyes. He touched their faces with its
tip. "Deep, tender, kind, and beautiful," he elaborated. "Those are
the signs--signs that he's been along--just passed that way. The whole
world's looking, and the whole world's full of signs!"
For a moment all stood still together like a group of leafy things a
passing wind has shaken, then left motionless; a wild rose-bush, a
climbing vine, a clinging ivy branch--all three kept close to the
stalwart figure of their big, incomparable leader.
And Judy knew at last the thing she didn't know; Tim felt himself
finally in the eternal centre of his haunted wood; in the eyes of
Uncle Felix there was a glistening moisture that caught the sunlight
like dew upon the early lawn.
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