China and Japan lay panting in the shade behind him, and not far off reposed the big grey Persian, Mrs. Tompkyns. Regardless of the heat, Pouf, Zezette, and Dumps flitted here and there as though the whole lawn was specially made for their games; and Smoke, the black cat, dignified and mysterious, lay with eyes half-closed just near enough for Paul to stroke his sleek, hot sides when he felt so disposed. He—Smoke that is—blinked indifferently at passing butterflies, or twitched his great tail at the very tip when a bird settled in the branches overhead; but for the most part he was intent upon other matters—matters of genuine importance that concerned none but himself.
A few yards off Jonah and Toby were doing something with daisies—what it was Paul could not see; and on his other side Nixie lay flat upon the grass and gazed into the sky. The governess was—where all governesses should be out of lesson-time—elsewhere.
‘Nixie, you’re sleeping. Wake up.’
She rolled over towards him. ‘No, Uncle Paul, I’m not. I was only thinking.’
‘Thinking of what?’
‘Oh, clouds and things; chiefly clouds, I think.’ She pointed to the white battlements of summer that were passing very slowly over the heavens. ‘It’s so funny that you can see them move, yet can’t see the thing that pushes them along.’
‘Wind, you mean?’
‘H’mmmmm.’
They lay flat on their backs and watched. Nixie made a screen of her hair and peered through it. Paul did the same with his fingers.
‘You can touch it, and smell it, and hear it,’ she went on, half to herself, ‘but you can’t see it.’