In that region, however, where
Thinking runs and plays, thought dancing hand in hand with thought
that is akin to it, the fact must surely have been known and
recognised. They, too, travelled in the Starlight Express.
Mother and Daddy realised it just then as little as children are aware
of the loving thoughts of the parent that hovers protectingly about
them all day long. They merely acknowledged that a prodigious thrill
of happiness pulsed through both of them at once, feeling proud as the
group in the tree-tops praised their increased brightness and admired
the marvellous shining of the completed Pattern they trailed above
their heads. But more than that they did not grasp. Nor have they ever
grasped it perhaps. That the result came through later is proved,
however, by the published story, and by the strange, sweet beauty its
readers felt all over the world. But this belongs to the private
working of inspiration which can never be explained, not even by the
artist it has set on fire. He, indeed, probably understands it least
of all.
'Where are the trains, the Starlight Expresses?' asked Mother.
'Gone!' answered Jimbo. 'Gone to Australia where they're wanted. It's
evening now down there.'
He pointed down, then up. 'Don't you see? We must hurry.' She looked
across the lake where the monstrous wall of Alps was dimly visible.
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