Swiftly they turned and
stared up at the Tramp. There was a rapt look upon his tangled face.
"A sign," he was saying softly. "He's passed this way. He can't be
hiding very far from here." And, drawing a long, deep breath, he gazed
about him into endless space as though about to sing again.
The dragon-fly had vanished, none knew whither, gone doubtless into
some new hiding-place; it just gave the hint, then slipped away upon
its business. But the wonder and the beauty it had brought remained
behind, crept into every heart. The mystery of life, the reality that
lay hiding at the core of things, the marvel and the dream--all these
were growing clearer. All lovely things were "signs." And there fell a
sudden hush upon the group, for the Thing that Nobody could Understand
crept up and touched them.
Abruptly, then, lest the wonder of it should prove more than they
could bear perhaps, a blackbird whistled with a burst of flying
laughter at them from the shrubberies. Laughter and dancing both were
part of wonder. The Tramp at once moved forward, chuckling in his
beard; he waved his arms; his step was lighter, quicker; he was
singing softly to himself: they only caught stray sentences, but they
loved the windy ringing of his voice.
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