When a little mouse in wonder
Flicks its whiskers at the thunder,
it makes a tiny scaffolding behind which it hides in safety,
shuddering. Same with Daddy's stories. Thinking and feeling does the
trick. Then imagination comes and builds it up solidly with bricks and
wall-papers....'
He told them a great deal more, but it cannot be certain that they
heard it all, for there were other Excitements about besides their
cousin--the fire, the time, the place, and above all, this marvellous
coming of the darkness. They caught words here and there, but Thought
went its own independent way with each little eager mind. He had
started the machinery going, that was all. Interpretation varied;
facts remained the same. And meanwhile twilight brought the
Scaffolding of Night before their eyes.
'You can see the lines already,' he murmured sleepily, 'like veins
against the sunset.... Look!'
All saw the shadowy slim rafters slip across the paling sky, mapping
its emptiness with intricate design. Like an enormous spider's web of
fine dark silk it bulged before the wind. The trellis-work, slung from
the sky, hung loose. It moved slowly, steadily, from east to west,
trailing grey sheets of dusk that hung from every filament. The maze
of lines bewildered sight. In all directions shot the threads of
coming darkness, spun from the huge body of Night that still hid
invisible below the horizon.
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