The Extra Day

by Algernon Blackwood

  SIGNS EVERYWHERE!

  IX

  And it was somewhere about here and now--the exact spot impossible todetermine, since it was obviously a circular experience withoutbeginning, middle or end--that the gigantic character of the Daydeclared itself in all its marvellous simplicity. For as they diveddeeper and deeper towards its centre, they discovered that its centre,being everywhere at once, existed--nowhere. The sun was alwaysrising--somewhere.

  In other words, each seeker grasped, in his or her own separate way,that the Splendour hiding from them lay actually both too near and faraway for any individual eye to see it with completeness. Someone,indeed, had come; but this Someone, as Judy told herself, was "simplyall over the place." To see him "distinkly is an awful job," accordingto Uncle Felix; or as Come-Back Stumper realised in the middle ofanother clump of bramble bushes, "Perspective is necessary to propervision." "He" lay too close before their eyes to be discovered fully.Tim had long ago described it instinctively as "an enormous hide," butit was more than that; it was a universal hide.

  Alone, perhaps, Weeden's lost optic, wandering ubiquitously andenjoying the bird's-eye view, possessed the coveted power. But, likethe stars, though somewhat about, it was invisible. WEEDEN made noreference to it. He attended to one thing at a time, he lived in thepresent; one eye was gone; he just looked for truffles--with the other.

  Yet this did not damp their ardour in the least; increased it rather:the gathering of the clues became more and more absorbing. Though notseen, the hider was both known and felt; his presence was a certainty.There was no real contradiction.

  For signs grew and multiplied till the entire world seemed overflowingwith them, and hardly could the earth contain them. They brimmed thesunny air, flooded the ponds and streams, lay thick upon the fields,and almost choked the woods to stillness. They trickled out, leakedthrough, dripped over everywhere in colour, shape, and sound. The hiderhad passed everywhere, and upon everything had left his exquisite anddeathless traces. The inanimate, as well as the animate world had knownthe various touch of his great passing. His trail had blazed the entireearth about them. For the very clouds were dipped in snow and gold, andthe meanest pebble in the lane wore a self-conscious gleam of shiningsilver. So-called domestic creatures also seemed aware that astupendous hiding-place was somewhere near--the browsing cow, contentedand at ease, the horse that nuzzled their hands across the gate, thevery pigs, grubbing eternally for food, yet eternally unsatisfied; allthese, this endless morning, wore an unaccustomed look as though theyknew, and so were glad to be alive. Some knew more than others, ofcourse. The cat, for instance, defending its kittens single-pawedagainst the stable-dog who pretended to be ferocious; the busyfather-blackbird, passing worms to his mate for the featherless mites,all beak and clamour in the nest; the Clouded Yellow, sharing a sprayof honeysuckle with a Bumble-bee, and the honeysuckle offering noresistance--one and all, they also were aware in their differingdegrees. And the seekers, noting the signs, grew warmer and everwarmer. An ordinary day these signs, owing to their generous profusion,might have called for no remark. They would, probably, have drawn noattention to themselves, merely lying about unnoticed, undiscoveredbecause familiar. But this was not an ordinary day. It was unused,unspoilt and unrecorded. It was the Some Day of humanity's longdream--an Extra Day. Time could not carry it away; it could not end;all it contained was of eternity. The great hider at the heart of itwas real. These signs--deep, tender, kind and beautiful--were part ofhim, and in knowing, recognising them, they knew and recognised himtoo. They drew near, that is, brushed up closer, to his hiding-placefrom which _he_ saw them. They approached within knowing distance of aReality that each in his or her particular way had always yearned for.They held--oh, distinkly held--that they were winning. They won themarvellous game as soon as it began. They never had a doubt about theend.

  But their supreme, superb discovery was this: They had always secretlylonged to find the elusive hider; they now realised that _he_--wantedthem to find him, and that from his hiding-place he saw them easily.That was the most wonderful thing of all....

  To describe the separate adventures of each seeker would involve aseries of bulky trilogies no bookshelves in the world could carry; theycan, besides, be adequately told in three simple words that Timused--shouted with intense enthusiasm when he tripped over arabbit-hole and tumbled headlong against that everlasting Tramp: "I'mstill looking!" He dived away into another hole. "I'm looking still.""So am I," the Tramp answered, also in three words. "I'm _very_ warm,"growled Stumper; "I'm getting on," Aunt Emily piped; and while Judy wasfor ever shouting out "I've found him!" Uncle Felix, puffing andpanting, could only repeat with rapture each time he met anotherseeker: "A lovely day! A _lovely_ day!" They said solittle--experienced and felt so much!

  From time to time, too, others joined them in the tremendous game. Itseemed the personality of the Tramp attracted them. Something abouthim--his sincerity, perhaps, or his simplicity--made them realisesuddenly what they were about: as though they had not noticed itbefore, not understood it quite, at any rate. They found themselves. Hedid and said so little. But he possessed the unique quality of aLeader--natural persuasion.

  Thompson, for instance, cleaning the silver at the pantry window,looked up and saw them pass. They caught him unawares. His pompousmanner hung like a discarded mask on a nail beside his livery. He worehis black and white striped waistcoat, and an apron. Of course helooked proper, as an old family servant ought to look, but he lookedcheerful too. He was humming to himself as he polished up the coversand the candelabra.

  "Well, I never!" he exclaimed, as the line of them filed by. "I neverdid. And Mr. Weeden with 'em too!"

  The Tramp passed singing and looked through the open window at thebutler. No more than that. Their eyes met between the bars. Theyexchanged glances. But something incalculable happened in that instant,just as it had happened to Stumper, Aunt Emily, and the rest of them.Thompson put several questions into his look of sheer astonishment.

  "Why not?" the Tramp replied, chuckling as he caught the butler's eye."It's a lovely morning. We're just looking!"

  Thompson was flabbergasted--as if all the old-fashioned families of theworld had suddenly praised him. All his life he had never done anythingbut his ordinary duty.

  "It's 'oliday time," said Weeden, coming next, "and all my flowers andvegitubles is a-growin' nicely." He too seemed singing, dancing.Something had happened. The whole world seemed out and playing.

  Thompson forgot himself in a most unusual way, forgot that he was anold family servant, that the apron-string met round his middle withdifficulty, that the Authorities were away and his responsibilitiesincreased thereby; forgot too, that for twenty years he had beenanswering bells, over-hearing conversations without pretending to doso, and that visitors wanted hot water and early tea at "7:30 sharp."He remembered suddenly that he was a man--and that he was very fond ofsome one. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, the flowers wereout upon the lawn, and it was Spring.

  An amazing longing in him woke and stirred to life. There was asingular itching in his feet. Something in his butler-heart began topurr. "Looking, eh!" he thought. "There's something I've been lookingfor too. I'd forgot about it."

  "No one can make the silver shine as I can," he mumbled, watching theretreating figures, "but it is about finished now,"--he glanced down atit with pride--"and fit to set on the table. Why shouldn't I take aturn in the garden too?"

  He looked out a moment. The magic of the spring came upon him suddenlylike a revelation. He knew he was alive, that there was something hewanted somewhere, something real and satisfying--if only he could findit--find out what it was. For twenty years he had been livingautomatically. Alfred Thompson suddenly felt free and careless. Thebutler--yearned!

  He hesitated, gave the dish-cover an extra polish, then called throughthe door to Mrs. Horton:

  "There's a tramp in the garden, Bridget, and Mr. Weeden's with him. Mr.Felix is halso taking the air, and Master Tim--"


  He stopped, hearing a step in the pantry. Mrs. Horton stood behind himwith a shawl about her shoulders. Her red face was smiling.

  "Alfred, let's go out and take a look," she said. "Mary can see to theshepherd's-pie. I've been as quick as I could," she added, as ifexcusing herself. Moreover, she said distinctly, "shepherd's-_poie_."

  "_I_ haven't been 'calling,'" replied the butler, "except only justnow--just this minute." He spoke as though he was being scolded for notanswering a bell. But he cast an admiring glance, half wild, halfreckless, at the cook.

  "An' you shouting to me to come this last 'arf hour and more!" criedMrs. Horton. She, too, apparently, was in a "state."

  "You are mistaken, Bridget, I have been singing, as I often do whenattending to the silver, but as for--"

  "You can do without a hat," she interrupted. "Come on! I want to go andlook for--for--" She broke off, taking his arm as though they weregoing down the Strand or Oxford Street. Her red face beamed. She lookedvery proud and happy. She wanted to look for something too, but shecould not believe the moment had really come. She had put it away solong--like a special dish in a cupboard.

  "I don't know what's come over me," she went on very confidentially, asshe moved beside him through the scullery door, "but--but I don't feelsatisfied--not satisfied with meself as I used to be."

  "No, Bridget?" It was in his best "7:30" manner. There was a strugglein him.

  "No," said Mrs. Horton, with decision. "I give satisfaction--that Iknow--"

  "We both do that," said Thompson proudly. "And no one can do a suetpudding to a turn as you can. Only the other day I heard Sir Williama-speaking of it--"

  She held his arm more tightly. They were on the lawn by now. The floodof sunlight caught them, showed up the worn and shabby places in hissuit of broadcloth, gleamed on her bursting shoes she "fancied" for herkitchen work. They heard the birds, they smelt the flowers, the airbathed them all over like a sea.

  "And the silver, Alfred," she said in a lower tone. "Who in the worldcan make it look as you do? But what I've been feeling lately--sincethis morning, that is to say--and feeling for the first time in melife, so to speak--"

  "Bridget, dear, you've got it!" he interrupted with excitement, "I'vefelt it too. Felt it this morning first, when I woke up and rememberedthat nobody wanted hot-water nor early tea, and I said to myself,'There's more than that in it. I'm not doing all this just only for asalary. I'm doing it for something else. What is it?'"

  He spoke very rapidly for a butler. He looked down at her red andsmiling face.

  "What is it?" he repeated, curiously moved.

  She looked up at him without a word.

  "It's something 'idden," he said, after a pause. "That's what it is."

  "That's it," agreed Mrs. Horton. "Like a recipe."

  There was another pause. The butler broke it. They stood together inthe middle of the field, flowers and birds and sunshine all about them.

  "A mystery--inside of us," he said, "I think--"

  "Yes, Alfred," the cook murmured softly.

  "_I_ think," he continued, "it's a song and dance we want. A littlelife." He broke off abruptly, noticing the sudden movement of herbursting shoes. She took a long step forwards, then sideways. Sheopened her arms to the air and sun. She almost pirouetted.

  "Life!" she cried, "'ot and fiery. Life! That's it. Hark, Alfred, d'yehear that singing far away?" She felt the Irish break out of her."Listen!" she cried, trying to drag him faster. "Listen, will ye? Itmakes me wild entirely! Give me yer hand! Come on and dance wid me!It's in me hearrt I feel it, in me blood. To the devil with me suetpuddings and shepherd-poies--that singing's real, that's loife, that'slovely as a dhream! It's what I've been looking for iver since I canremember. I've got it!"

  And Thompson felt himself spinning through the air. Old families wereforgotten. The world was young with laughter. They could fly. They did.

  The silver was beautifully cleaned. He had earned his holiday.

  "That singing!" he gasped, feeling his heart grow big. He followed heracross the flowered world. "I believe it is a bird! It would notsurprise me to be told--"

  "A birrd!" cried Mrs. Horton, turning him round and round. "It's abirrd from Heaven then! I've heard it all the morning. It's beensinging in me heart for ages. Now it's out! Come follow it wid me!We'll go to the end of the wurrld to foinde it."

  Her kitchen energy--some called it temper--had discovered a greaterscope than puddings.

  "There is no hurry," the butler panted, moving along with her, andtrying hard to keep his balance. "We'll look together. We'll find it!"And as they raced across the field among the flowers after the line ofdisappearing figures, the Tramp looked back at them and waved his hand.

  "It's a lovely morning," he said, as they came up with the rest of theparty. "So you're looking too?"

  Too much out of breath to answer, they just nodded, and the groupaccepted them without more to-do. Their object evidently was the same.Aunt Emily glanced up from her ferns, nodded and said, "Good morning,it's a lovely day"--and resumed her digging again. It was like shakinghands! They all went forward happily, eagerly, across the wide, wideworld together.

  The absence of surprise the children knew had now become acharacteristic everybody shared. All were in the same state together.The whole day flowed, there were no limitations or conditions, least ofall surprise. Even WEEDEN had forgotten hedges and artificialboundaries. No one, therefore, ejaculated nor exclaimed when they ranacross the Policeman. He, too, was looking for some one, but, havingmislaid his notebook and pencil stub, was unable to mention any names,and was easily persuaded to join the body of eager seekers. Being apoliceman, he was naturally a seeker by profession; he was alwayslooking for somebody somewhere--somebody who was going in the wrongdirection.

  "That's just it," he said, the moment he saw the Tramp, taking hishelmet off as though an odd respect was in him. "That's just what I'vealways felt," he went on vaguely. "I'm looking for some one wot'sa'looking for something else--only looking wrong."

  "In the wrong places," suggested Stumper, remembering his Indianscouting days.

  "In the wrong way," put in Uncle Felix, full of experience by now.

  The Policeman listened attentively, as though by rights he ought toenter these sentences laboriously in his notebook.

  "That's it, per'aps," he stated. "It takes 'em longer, but they findsout in the end. If I was to show 'em the right way of looking insteadof arresting 'em--I'd be _reel_!" And then he added, as if he weregiving evidence in a Court of Justice and before a County Magistrate,"There's no good looking for anything where it ain't, now is there?"

  "Precisely," agreed Colonel Stumper, remembering happily that hispockets were full of snail-shells. He knew _his_ sign.

  Thompson, Mrs. Horton, Weeden, and the Policeman glanced at himgratefully. But it was the last mentioned who replied:

  "Because every one," he said with conviction at last, "has his own wayof looking, and even the burgular is only looking wrong." He, too, itseemed, had found himself.

  Their search, their endless hunt, their conversation and adventuresthus might be reported endlessly, if only the book-shelves of the worldwere built more stoutly, and everybody could find an Extra Day lyingabout in which to read it all. Each seeker held true to his or herfirst love, obeying an infallible instinct. The adventure and romancethat hid in Tim and Judy, respectively, sent them headlong afteranything that offered signs of these two common but seductivequalities. Judy lived literally in the air, her feet, her heart, hereyes all off the ground; Tim, filled with an equally insatiablecuriosity, found adorable danger in every rabbit-run, and rescuedthings innumerable. Off the ground he felt unsafe, unsure, and losthimself. Stumper, faithful to his scouting passion, disappeared intoall kinds of undesirable places no one else would have dreamed oflooking in, yet invariably--came back; and while Uncle Felix tried alittle of everything and found "copy" in a puddle or a dandelion,Weeden carried his empty sack without a murmur, knowi
ng it would befilled with truffles at the end. Aunt Emily, exceedingly particular,but no longer interfering with the others, was equally sure of herself.A touch of fluid youth ran in her veins again, and in her heart grew afern that presently she would find everywhere outside as well--amaiden-hair.

  Each, however, in some marvellous way, shared the adventures of theothers, as though the Tramp merged all seven of them into one singlebeing, unified them, at any rate, into this one harmonious, commonpurpose with himself. For, while everybody had a different way oflooking, everybody's way--for that particular individual--was exactlyright.

  "Smell, then follow," was the secret. "Find your own sign and stick toit," the clue. Each sign, though by different routes, led straighttowards the marvellous hiding-place. To urge one's own sign uponanother was merely to delay that other; but to point out better signsof his own particular kind was to send him on faster than before. Thusthere was harmony among them all, for every seeker, knowing this,had--found himself.