"It's a he, remember," interrupted Tim. "Come along!"
And then the Tramp, who had been standing quietly by, smiling to
himself but saying nothing, came nearer, opened his great arms and
drew the four of them together. His voice, his shining presence, the
warm brilliance that glowed about him, seemed to envelop them like a
flame of fire and a fire of--love.
"We're thinking and arguing too much," he drawled in his leisurely,
big voice, "we lose the trail that way, we lose the rhythm. Just love
and look and wonder--then we'll find him. There is no hurry, life has
just begun. But keep on looking all the time." He turned to Stumper
with a chuckle. "You said you had a flash," he reminded him. "What's
become of it? You can't have lost it--with that pigeon's feather in
your hand!"
"It's waggling," announced Tim, holding up his own, while the others
followed suit. The little feathers all bent one way--towards the
bramble clump. Their tiny, singing music was just audible in the
pause.
"Yes," replied Come-Back Stumper at length. "I've had a flash--
flashes, in fact! What's more," he added proudly, "I was after a
couple of them--just when you arrived.
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