Indeed
they formed a pattern together, big thick trunks marking the uprights
at the corners, and wavy smoke lines weaving a delicate structure in
between them. It was a kind of growing, moving scaffolding. Saying
nothing, Cousin Henry pointed to it with his finger. He traced its
general pattern for them in the air.
'That's the Scaffolding of the Night beginning,' he whispered
presently, feeling adventure press upon him.
'Oh, I say,' said Jimbo, sitting up, and pretending as usual more
comprehension than he actually possessed. But his sister instantly
asked, 'What is it--the Scaffolding of the Night? A sort of cathedral,
you mean?'
How she divined his thought, and snatched it from his mind always,
this nimble-witted child! His germ developed with a bound at once.
'More a palace than a cathedral,' he whispered. 'Night is a palace,
and has to be built afresh each time. Twilight rears the scaffolding
first, then hangs the Night upon it. Otherwise the darkness would
simply fall in lumps, and lie about in pools and blocks, unfinished--a
ruin instead of a building. Everything must have a scaffolding first.
Look how beautifully it's coming now,' he added, pointing, 'each
shadow in its place, and all the lines of grey and black fitting
exaccurately together like a skeleton.
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