And then the Tramp, who had been standing quietly by, smiling to himself but saying nothing, came nearer, opened his great arms and drew the four of them together. His voice, his shining presence, the warm brilliance that glowed about him, seemed to envelop them like a flame of fire and a fire of—love.
"We're thinking and arguing too much," he drawled in his leisurely, big voice, "we lose the trail that way, we lose the rhythm. Just love and look and wonder—then we'll find him. There is no hurry, life has just begun. But keep on looking all the time." He turned to Stumper with a chuckle. "You said you had a flash," he reminded him. "What's become of it? You can't have lost it—with that pigeon's feather in your hand!"
"It's waggling," announced Tim, holding up his own, while the others followed suit. The little feathers all bent one way—towards the bramble clump. Their tiny, singing music was just audible in the pause.
"Yes," replied Come-Back Stumper at length. "I've had a flash—flashes, in fact! What's more," he added proudly, "I was after a couple of them—just when you arrived."
Everybody talked at once then. Uncle Felix and the children fell to explaining the signs and traces they had already discovered, each affirming vehemently that their own particular sign was the loveliest—the dragon-fly, the flowers, the wind, the bending reeds, even the lizard and the bumble-bee. The chorus of sound was like the chattering of rooks among the tree-tops; in fact, though the quality of tone of course was different, the resemblance to a concert of birds, all singing together in a summer garden, was quite striking. Out of the hubbub single words emerged occasionally—a "robin," "swallows," an "up-and-under bird"—yet, strange to say, so far as Stumper was concerned, only one thing was said; all said the same one thing; he heard this one thing only—as though the words and sentences they used were but different ways of pronouncing it, of spelling it, of uttering it. Moreover, the wind in the feather said it too, for the sound and intonation were similar. It was the thing that wind and running water said, that flame roared in the fireplace, that rain-drops pattered on the leaves, even house-flies, buzzing across the window-panes—everything everywhere, the whole earth, said it.
He stood still, listening in amazement. His face had dried by now; he passed his hand across it; he tugged at his fierce military moustache.
"Hiding—near us—in the open—everywhere," he muttered, though no one heard him; "I've had my flashes too."
"Different people get different signs, of course," the Tramp made himself heard at length, "but they're all the same. All lie along the trail. The earth's a globe and circle, so everything leads to the same place—in the end."
"Yes," said Stumper; "thank you"—as though he knew it already, but felt that it was neatly put.
"Follow up your flash," added the Tramp. "Smell—then follow. That is—keep on looking."