The Extra Day. Algernon Blackwood

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ quiet. If you frighten it—whew!"—he whistled softly—"it'll be off above the tree-tops in a second!"

      A low soft whistle answered to his own; somewhere in the room it sounded; there was no mistaking it, though the exact direction was difficult to tell, for while Tim said it was through the keyhole, Judy declared positively that it came from the door of the big, broken cupboard opposite. Maria stated flatly, "Chimney."

      "Hush! It's talking." It was Uncle Felix's voice breathing very low.

       "It likes us. It feels we're friendly."

      A murmur as of leaves was audible, or as of a pine bough sighing in a breeze. Yet there were words as well—actual spoken words:

      "Don't look for me, please," they heard. "I do not want to be seen. But you may touch me. I like that."

      The children spread their hands out in the darkness, groping, searching, feeling.

      "Ah, your touch!" the sighing voice continued.

      "It's like my softest lawn. Your hair feels as my grass feels on the hill-tops, and the skin of your cheeks is smooth and cool as the water-surface of my lily ponds at midnight. I know you"—it raised its tones to singing. "You are children. I kiss you all!"

      "I feel you," Judy said in her clear, quiet voice. "But you're cold."

      "Not really," was the answer that seemed all over the room at once. "That's only the touch of space. I've come from very high up to-night. There's been a change. The lower wind was called away suddenly to the sea, and I dropped down with hardly a moment's warning to take its place. The sun has been very tiresome all day—overheating the currents."

      "Uncle, you ask it everything," whispered Tim, "simply everything!"

      "Say how we love it, please," sighed Judy. "I feel it closing both my eyes."

      "It's over all my face," put in Maria, drawing her breath in loudly.

      "But my hair's lifting!" Judy exclaimed. "Oh, it's lovely, lovely!"

      Uncle Felix straightened himself up in the darkness. They could hear him breathing with the effort. "Please tell us what you do," he said. "We all can feel you touching us. Play with us as you play with trees and clouds and sleeping flowers along the hedgerows."

      A singing, whistling sound passed softly round the room; there was a whirr and a flutter as when a flight of bees or birds goes down the sky, and a voice, a plaintive yet happy voice, like the plover who cry to each other on the moors, was audible:

      "I run about the world at night,

       Yet cannot see;

       My hair has grown so thick these millions years,

       It covers me.

       So, like a big, blind thing

       I run about,

       And know all things by touching them.

       I touch them with my wings;

       I know each one of you

       By touching you;

       I touch your hearts!"

      "I feel you!" cried Judy. "I feel you touching me!"

      "And I, and I!" the others cried. "It's simply wonderful!"

      An enormous sigh of happiness went through that darkened room.

      "Then play with me!" they heard. "Oh, children, play with me!"

      The wild, high sweetness in the windy voice was irresistible. The children rose with one accord. It was too dark to see, but they flew about the room without a fault or slip. There was no stumbling; they seemed guided, lifted, swept. The sound of happy, laughing voices filled the air. They caught the Wind, and let it go again; they chased it round the table and the sofa; they held it in their arms until it panted with delight, half smothered into silence, then marvellously escaping from them on the elastic, flying feet that tread on forests, clouds, and mountain tops. It rushed and darted, drove them, struck them lightly, pushed them suddenly from behind, then met their faces with a puff and shout of glee. It caught their feet; it blew their eyelids down. Just when they cried, "It's caught! I've got it in my hands!" it shot laughing up against the ceiling, boomed down the chimney, or whistled shrilly as it escaped beneath the crack of the door into the passage. The keyhole was its easiest escape. It grew boisterous, singing with delight, yet was never for a moment rough. It cushioned all its blows with feathers.

      "Where are you now? I felt your hair all over me. You've gone again!"

       It was Judy's voice as she tore across the floor.

      "You're whacking me on the head!" cried Tim. "Quick, quick! I've got you in my hands!" He flew headlong over the sofa where Maria sat clutching the bolster to prevent being blown on to the carpet.

      They felt its soft, gigantic hands all over them; its silky coils of hair entangled every movement; they heard its wings, its rushing, sighing voice, its velvet feet. The room was in a whirr and uproar.

      "Uncle! Can't you help? You're the biggest!"

      "But it's blown me inside out," he answered, in a curiously muffled voice. "My fingers are blown off. It's taken all my breath away."

      The pictures rattled on the wall; loose bits of paper fluttered everywhere; the curtains flapped out horizontally into the air.

      "Catch it! Hold it! Stop it!" cried the breathless voices.

      "Join hands," he gasped. "We'll try." And, holding hands, they raced across the floor. They managed to encircle something with their spread arms and legs. Into the corner by the door they forced a great, loose, flowing thing against the wall. Wedged tight together like a fence, they stooped. They pounced upon it.

      "Caught!" shouted Tim. "We've got you!"

      There was a laughing whistle in the keyhole just behind them. It was gone.

      The window shook. They heard the wild, high laughter. It was out of the room. The next minute it passed shouting above the cedar tops and up into the open sky. And their own laughter went out to follow it across the night.

      The room became suddenly very still again. Some one had closed the window. The twig no longer tapped. The game was over. Uncle Felix collected them, an exhausted crew, upon the sofa by his side.

      "It was very wonderful," he whispered. "We've done what no one has ever done before. We've played with the Night-Wind, and the Night-Wind's played with us. It feels happier now. It will always be our friend."

      "It was awfully strong," said Tim in a tone of awe. "It fairly banged me."

      "But awfully gentle," Judy sighed. "It kissed me hundreds of times."

      "I felt it," announced Maria.

      "It's only a child, really," Uncle Felix added, half to himself, "a great wild child that plays with itself in space—"

      He went on murmuring for several minutes, but the СКАЧАТЬ