The Extra Day

by Algernon Blackwood

  THE COMMON SIGNS

  V

  "But has he called yet?" asked Tim, remembering suddenly that it wasn'tfair to begin till the hider announced that he was ready. "He's got tohoot first, you know. Hasn't he?" he added doubtfully.

  "Listen!" replied the man of the long white roads. And he held hisfeather close against his ear, while the others copied him. Fixingtheir eyes upon a distant point, they listened, and as they listened,their lips relaxed, their mouths opened slowly, their eyebrowslifted--they heard, apparently, something too wonderful to be believed.

  To Uncle Felix, still fumbling in his mind among unnecessary questions,it seemed that the power of hearing had awakened for the first time, orelse had grown of a sudden extraordinarily acute. The children merelylistened and said "Oh, oh, oh!"; the sound they heard was familiar,though never fully understood till now. For him, it was, perhaps, therecovery of a power he had long forgotten. At any rate he--heard. Forthe air passed through the tiny fronds of the feather--through theveined web of its delicate resistance--round the hollow stem and acrossthe fluffy breadth of it--with a humming music as of wind among thetelegraph wires, only infinitely sweet and far away. There were severalnotes in it, a chord--the music that accompanies all flying things,even a butterfly or settling leaf, and ever fills the air withunguessed melody.

  It opened their power of hearing to a degree as yet undreamed of evenby the all-believing children. Their feathers became wee, accurate,tuning-forks for all existence. They understood that everything in thewhole world sang; that no rose leaf fluttered to the earth, no rabbittwitched its ears, no mouse its tail, no single bluebell waved a headtowards its bluer neighbour, without this exquisite accompaniment offairy music.

  "Listen, listen!" the Tramp repeated softly from time to time, watchingtheir faces keenly. "Listen, and you'll hear him calling...!"

  And this fairy humming, having so marvellously attuned their hearing,then led them on to the larger, louder sounds; they pricked their earsup, as the saying goes; they noticed the deeper music everywhere. Forthe morning breeze was rustling and whispering among the leaves andblades of grass with a thousand happy voices. It was the ordinarysummer sound of moving air that no one pays attention to.

  "Oh, that!" exclaimed Uncle Felix. "I hadn't noticed it." He feltashamed. He who had taught them the beauty of the self-advertisingNight-Wind, had somehow missed and overlooked the wonder--thesearching, yearning beauty--of this meek, incomparable music: becauseit was so usual. For the first time in his life he heard the wind as itslipped between the leaves, shaking them into rapture.

  "And that," laughed the Tramp, cocking his great head to catch themurmur of the stream beyond the lawn, "if the dust of furniture andhouses ain't blocked your ears too thickly." They stooped to listen."Like laughter, isn't it?" he observed, "singing and laughing mixedtogether?"

  They straightened up again, too full of wonder to squeeze out any words.

  "It's everywhere," said Uncle Felix, "this calling--these callingvoices. Is that where you got _your_ song from?"

  "It's everywhere and always," replied the other evasively. "The birdsget their singing from it. They get everything first, of course, thenpass it on. The whole world's music comes from that, though there'snothing--_nothing_," he added with emphasis, "to touch the singing of abird. He's calling everywhere and always," he went on as no onecontradicted him or ventured upon any question; "only you've got tolisten close. He calls soft and beautiful. He doesn't shout and yell atyou."

  "Soft and beautiful, yes," repeated Uncle Felix below his breath, "thesmall, still voices of the air and sea and earth." And, as he said it,they caught the murmur of the little stream; they heard singing in theair as well. The blackbirds whistled in one direction, the thrushestrilled and gurgled in another, and overhead, both among the coveringleaves and from the open sky, a chorus of twittering and piping filledthe chambers of the day. Judy recalled, as of long ago, the warningbugle-call of an up-and-under bird; Tim faintly remembered havingoverheard some swallows "discussing" together; Uncle Felix saw a robinperched against a sky of pearly grey at the end of an interminablecorridor that stretched across whole centuries.... Then, close besidethe three of them, a bumble-bee, a golden fly, and a company of summergnats went by--booming, trumpeting, singing like a tiny carillon ofbells respectively.

  "Hark and listen," exclaimed the Tramp with triumph in his voice, andlooking down at Tim particularly. "He's calling all the time. It's thelittle ordinary sounds that give the hints."

  "It's an enormous hide; I mean to look for ever and ever," cried thedelighted boy.

  "I can hear everything in the world now," cried Judy.

  "Signs," said Uncle Felix, after a pause. This time he did not make aquestion of his thought, but merely dropped the word out like a note ofmusic into the air. His feather answered it and took it further.

  The Tramp caught the word flying before it reached the ground:

  "Deep, tender, kind and beautiful," he said, "but aboveall--beautiful." He turned his shaggy head and looked about himcarelessly. "There's one of them, for instance," he added, pointingacross the lawn. "There's a sign. It means he's passed that way! Heain't too far away--may-be."

  They followed the direction of his eyes. A dragon-fly paused hoveringabove the stream, its reflection mirrored in the clear running waterunderneath. Against the green palisade of reeds its veined and crystalwings scattered the sunlight into shining flakes. The blue upon itsbody burned--a patch of flaming beauty in mid-air. They watched it fora moment. Then, suddenly--it was gone, the spot was empty. But thespeed, the poise, the perfect movement, the flashing wings, above allthe flaming blue upon its tail still held them spellbound. Somehow, itseemed, they had borrowed that speed, that flashing beauty, making theloveliness part and parcel of themselves. Swiftly they turned andstared 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 behiding very far from here." And, drawing a long, deep breath, he gazedabout him into endless space as though about to sing again.

  The dragon-fly had vanished, none knew whither, gone doubtless intosome new hiding-place; it just gave the hint, then slipped away uponits business. But the wonder and the beauty it had brought remainedbehind, crept into every heart. The mystery of life, the reality thatlay hiding at the core of things, the marvel and the dream--all thesewere growing clearer. All lovely things were "signs." And there fell asudden hush upon the group, for the Thing that Nobody could Understandcrept up and touched them.

  Abruptly, then, lest the wonder of it should prove more than they couldbear perhaps, a blackbird whistled with a burst of flying laughter atthem from the shrubberies. Laughter and dancing both were part ofwonder. The Tramp at once moved forward, chuckling in his beard; hewaved his arms; his step was lighter, quicker; he was singing softly tohimself: they only caught stray sentences, but they loved the windyringing of his voice. They knew not where he borrowed words and tune:"The world is young with laughter; we can fly.... Among the imprisonedhours as we choose.... The birds are singing.... Hark! Come out andplay.... There is no hurry.... Life has just begun...."

  "Come on!" cried Tim. "Let's follow him; we're getting frightfullywarm!"

  He seized Judy and his uncle by the hands and cleared the rivulet witha running leap. The Tramp, however, preferred to wade across. "Get intoeverything you can," he explained in mid-stream with a laugh. "It keepsyou in touch; it's all part of the looking."

  He led them into the field where the blackbird still went on whistlingits heart out into the endless summer morning. But to them it seemedthat he led them out across the open world for ever and ever....

  It grew very marvellous, this game of hide and seek. Sometimes theyforgot it was a game at all, forgot what they were looking for, forgotthat they were looking for anything or any one at all. Yet the mightysearch continued subconsciously, even when passing incidents drew theirattention from their chief desire. Always, at the back of thought, la
ythis exquisite, sweet memory in their hearts, something they halfremembered, half forgot, but very dear, very marvellous. Some one washiding somewhere, waiting, longing to play with them, expecting to befound.

  It may be that intervals went by, those intervals called years andmonths; yet no one noticed them, and certainly no one named them. Theyknew one feeling only--the joy of endless search. Some one was hiding,some one was near, and signs lay scattered everywhere. This some onelay in his wonderful hiding-place and watched their search withlaughter in his eyes. He remained invisible; perhaps they would neversee him actually; but they felt his presence everywhere, in everyobject, every tree and flower and stone, in sun and wind, in water andin earth. The power and loveliness of common things became insistent.They were aware of them. It seemed they brushed against this shiningpresence, pushing for ever against a secret door of exit that led intothe final hiding-place. Eager to play with them, yet more eager stillto be discovered, the wonderful hider kept just beyond their sight andtouch, while covering the playground with endless signs that he wasnear enough for them to know for certain he was--there. For among thefour of them there was no heart that doubted. None explained. None saidNo.... Nor was there any hurry.

  "_I_ believe," announced Tim at length, with the air of a sage abouthim, "the best way is to sit still and wait; then he'll just come outlike a rabbit and show himself." And, as no one contradicted, he addedconfidently, "that's _my_ idea." His love was evidently among thethings of the soil, rabbits, rats and hedgehogs, both hunter andadventurer strong in him.

  "A hole!" cried Judy with indignation. "Never! He's in the air. I hearda bird just now that--"

  "Whew!" whistled Uncle Felix, interrupting her excitedly. "He's beenalong here. Look! I'm sure of it." And he said it with such convictionthat they ran up, expecting actual footprints.

  "How do you know?" Tim asked dubiously, seeing no immediate proofhimself. All paused for the reply; but Uncle Felix also paused. He hadsaid a thing it seemed he could not justify.

  "Don't hesitate," said the Tramp, watching him with amusement. "Don'tthink before you speak. There's nothing to think about until you'vespoken."

  Uncle Felix wore an expression of bewilderment. "I meant the flowers,"he stammered, still unsure of his new powers.

  "Of course," the other chuckled. "Didn't I tell you 'tender andbeautiful,' and 'bang out in the open'?"

  "Then you're right, Uncle; they _are_ signs," cried Judy, "and you _do_like butter," and she danced away to pick the dandelions that smotheredthe field with gold. But the Tramp held out his feather like a wand.

  "They're our best signs, remember," he cried. "You might as well pick afeather out of a living bird."

  "Oh!"--and she pulled herself up sharply, a little flush running acrossher face and the wind catching at her flying hair. She swayed a moment,nearly overbalancing owing to the interrupted movement, and looking forall the world like a wild young rose tree, her eyes two shiningblossoms in the air. Then she dropped down and buried her nose amongthe crowd of yellow flowers. She smelt them audibly, drawing her breathin and letting it out again as though she could almost taste and eatthe perfume.

  "That's better," said the Tramp approvingly. "Smell, then follow," andhe moved forward again with his dancing, happy step. "All the wild,natural things do it," he cried, looking back over his shoulder at thethree who were on their knees with faces pressed down against theyellow carpet. "It's the way to keep on the trail. Smell--then follow."

  Something flashed through the clearing mind of the older man, thoughwhere it came from he had less idea than the dandelions: a mood offorgotten beauty rushed upon him--

  "O, follow, follow! Through the caverns hollow, As the song floats thou pursue, Where the wild bee never flew--"

  and he ran dancing forward after the great Tramp, singing the words asthough they were his own.

  Yet the flowers spread so thickly that the trail soon lost itself; itseemed like a paper-chase where the hare had scattered coloured petalsinstead of torn white copy-books. Each searcher followed the sign ofhis or her own favourite flower; like a Jack-in-the-Box each one bobbedup and down, smelling, panting, darting hither and thither as in themazes of some gnat--or animal-dance, till knees and hands were stainedwith sweet brown earth, and lips and noses gleamed with the dust oforange-tinted pollen.

  "Anyhow, I'd rather look than find," cried Tim, turning a somersaultover a sandy rabbit-mound.

  The swallows flashed towards Judy, a twittering song sprinkling itselflike liquid silver behind them as they swooped away again.

  "I expect," the girl confessed breathlessly, "that when we do findhim--we shall just die--!"

  "Of happiness, and wonder," ventured Uncle Felix, watching a commonMeadow Brown that perched, opening and closing its wings, upon hissleeve. And the Tramp, almost invisible among high standing grass andthistles, laughed and called in his curious, singing voice, "There isno hurry! Life has just begun!"

  "Then we might as well sit down," suggested Uncle Felix, and suitingthe action to the word, chose a nice soft spot upon the mossy bank andmade himself comfortable as though he meant to stay; the Tramp didlikewise, gathering the children close about his tangled figure. Forone thing a big ditch faced them, its opposite bank overgrown withbramble bushes, and for another the sloping moss offered itselfinvitingly, like a cushioned sofa. So they lay side by side, watchingthe empty ditch, listening to the faint trickle of water tinkling downit. Slender reeds and tall straight grasses fringed the nearer edge,and, as the wind passed through them with a hush and whisper, they bentover in a wave of flowing green.

  "He's certainly gone that way," Judy whispered, following with her eyesthe direction of the bending reeds. She was getting expert now.

  "Along the ditch, I do believe," agreed Tim. There were no flowers init, and few, perhaps, would have found beauty there, yet the pointingof the reeds was unmistakable. "It's chock full of stuff," he added,"but a rat could get along, so I suppose--"

  "The signs are very slight sometimes," murmured the Tramp, his headhalf buried in the moss, "and sometimes difficult as well. You'd besurprised." He flung out his arms and legs and continued laughingly."When things are contrary you may be sure you're gettingsomewhere--getting warm, that is."

  The children heard this outburst, but they did not listen. They wereabsorbed in something else already, for the movements of the reeds werefascinating. They began to imitate them, swaying their heads and bodiesto and fro in time, and crooning to themselves in an attempt to copythe sound made by the wind among the crowded stalks.

  "Don't," objected Uncle Felix, half in fun, "it makes me dizzy." He wastempted to copy them, however, and made an effort, but the movementcaught him in the ribs a little. His body, like his mind, was not assupple as theirs. An oak tree or an elm, perhaps, was more his model.

  "Do," the Tramp corrected him, swaying as he said it. "Swing with athing if you want to understand it. Copy it, and you catch its meaning.That's rhythm!" He made an astonishing mouthful of the word. Thechildren overheard it.

  "How do you spell it?" Judy asked.

  "I don't," he replied; "I do it. Once you get into the"--he took agreat breath--"rhythm of a thing, you begin to like it. See?"

  And he went on swaying his big shoulders in imitation of the rustlingreeds. All four swayed together then, holding their feathers beforethem like little flying banners. More than ever, they seemed thingsgrowing out of the earth, out of the very ditch. The movement brought adelicious, soothing sense of peace and safety over them; earth, air,and sunshine all belonged to them, plenty for everybody, no need to getthere first and snatch at the best places. There was no hurry, life hadjust begun. They seemed to have dug a hole in space and curled upcosily inside it. They whispered curious natural things to one another."A wren is settling on my hair," said Judy: "a butterfly on my neck,"said Uncle Felix: "a mouse," Tim mentioned, "is making its nest in mytrousers pocket." And the Tramp kept murmuring in his voice of wind andwater, "I'm ful
l of air and sunlight, floating in them, floatingaway... my secret's in the wind and open sky... there is no longer anyTime--to lose...."

  A bright green lizard darted up the sun-baked bank, vanishing down acrack without a sound; it left a streak of fire in the air. A goldenfly hovered about the tallest reed, then darted into another world,invisibly. A second followed it, a third, a fourth--points of gold thatpinned the day fast against the moving wall of green. A wren shot atfull speed along the bed of the ditch, threading its winding lengthtogether as upon a woven pattern. All were busy and intent upon somepurpose common to the whole of them, and to everything else as well;even the things that did not move were doing something.

  "I say," cried Tim suddenly, "they're covering him up. They're hidinghim better so that we shan't find him. We've got too warm."

  How long they had been in that ditch when the boy exclaimed no onecould tell; perhaps a lifetime, or perhaps an age only. It was longenough, at any rate, for the Tramp to have changed visibly inappearance--he looked younger, thinner, sprightlier, more shining. Heseemed to have shed a number of outward things that made himbulky--bits of beard and clothing, several extra waistcoats, and everyscrap of straw and stuff from the hedges that he wore at first. Moreand more he looked as Judy had seen him, ages and ages ago, emergingfrom the tarpaulin on the rubbish-heap at the End of the World.

  He sprang alertly to his feet at the sound of Tim's exclamation. Thesunlit morning seemed to spring up with him.

  "We have been very warm indeed," he sang, "but we shall get warmerstill before we find him. Besides, those things aren't hidinghim--they're looking. Everything and everybody in the whole wide worldis looking, but the signs are different for everybody, don't you see?Each knows and follows their own particular sign. Come on!" he cried,"come on and look! We shall find him in the end."