There was a clatter in the corridor before he could reply, and Jimbo
and Monkey flew in with a rush of wings and voices from school. They
were upon him in an instant, smelling of childhood, copy-books, ink,
and rampagious with hunger. Their skins and hair were warm with
sunlight. 'After tea we'll go out,' they cried, 'and show you
something in the forest---oh, an enormous and wonderful thing that
nobody knows of but me and Jimbo, and comes over every night from
France and hides inside a cave, and goes back just before sunrise with
a sack full of thinkings---'
'Thoughts,' corrected Jimbo.
'---that haven't reached the people they were meant for, and then---'
'Go into the next room, wash yourselves and tidy up,' said Mother
sternly, 'and then lay the table for tea. Jinny isn't in yet. Put the
charcoal in the samovar. I'll come and light it in a moment.'
They disappeared obediently, though once behind the door there were
sounds that resembled a pillow-fight rather than tidying-up; and when
Mother presently went after them to superintend, Rogers sat by the
window and stared across the vineyards and blue expanse of lake at the
distant Alps. It was curious. This vague, disconnected, rambling talk
with Mother had helped to clear his own mind as well. In trying to
explain to her something he hardly understood himself, his own
thinking had clarified.
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