The
moss was thick and deep. Great boulders, covered with lichen, lay
about, and there were fallen trees to rest the back against. Here he
had told them once his vision of seeing the wind, and the name had
stuck; for the story had been very vivid, and every time they felt the
wind or heard it stirring in the tree-tops, they expected to see it
too. There were blue winds, black winds, and winds--violent these--of
purple and flaming scarlet.
They lay down, and Cousinenry made a fire. The smoke went up in thin
straight lines of blue, melting into the sky. The sun had set half an
hour before, and the flush of gold and pink was fading into twilight.
The glamour of Bourcelles dropped down upon all three. They ought to
have been in bed--hence the particular enjoyment.
'Are you getting excited now?' asked Monkey, nestling in against him.
'Hush!' he said, 'can't you hear it coming?'
'The excitement?' she inquired under her breath.
'No, the Night. Keep soft and silent--if you can.'
'Tell us, please, at once,' both children begged him instantly, for
the beauty of the place and hour demanded explanation, and
explanation, of course, must be in story or adventure form. The fire
crackled faintly; the smell crept out like incense; the lines of smoke
coiled upwards, and seemed to draw the tree-stems with them.
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