But Jimbo knew. 'She's in it,' he decided. 'She's always in places
like that; that's where she lives.'
The children went on talking to each other under their breath, and
while they did so Cousin Henry entered their little wondering minds.
Or, perhaps, they entered his. It is difficult to say. Not even an
owl, who is awfully wise about everything to do with night and
darkness, could have told for certain. But, anyhow, they all three saw
more or less the same thing. The way they talked about it afterwards
proves that. Their minds apparently merged, or else there was one big
mirror and two minor side-reflections of it. It was their cousin's
interpretation, at any rate, that they remembered later. They brought
the material for his fashioning.
'Look!' cried Monkey, sitting up, 'there are millions and millions
now--lines everywhere--pillars and squares and towers. It's like a
city. I can see lamps in every street----'
'That's stars,' interrupted Jimbo. The stars indeed were peeping here
and there already. 'I feel up there,' he added, 'my inside, I mean--up
among the stars and lines and sky-things.'
'That's the mind wandering,' explained the eldest child of the three.
'Always follow a wandering mind. It's quite safe. Mine's going
presently too. We'll all go off together.
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