The Extra Day | Page 2

There was Jackman, the

nurse, a mixture of Mother and Aunt Emily; and there was Weeden, the
Head Gardener, an evasive and mysterious personality, who knew so
much about flowers and vegetables and weather that he was half animal,
half bird, and scarcely a human being at all--vaguely magnificent in a
sombre way. His power in his own department was unquestioned. He
said little, but it "meant an awful lot"--most of which, perhaps, was not
intended.
These four constituted the under layer of the household, concealed from
visitors, and living their own lives apart behind the scenes. They were
the Lesser Authorities.
There were others too, of course, neighbours, friends, and visitors, who
dwelt outside the big iron gates in the Open World, and who entered
their lives from various angles, some to linger, some merely to show
themselves and vanish into mist again. Occasionally they reappeared at
intervals, occasionally they didn't. Among the former were Colonel
William Stumper, C.B., a retired Indian soldier who lived in the Manor
House beyond the church and had written a book on Scouting; a
nameless Station-Master, whom they saw rarely when they
accompanied Daddy to the London train; a Policeman, who walked
endlessly up and down the muddy or dusty lanes, and came to the front
door with a dirty little book in his big hands at Christmas-time; and a
Tramp, who slept in barns and haystacks, and haunted the great London
Road ever since they had once handed him a piece of Mrs. Horton's
sticky cake in paper over the old grey fence. Him they regarded with a
special awe and admiration, not unmixed with tenderness. He had
smiled so nicely when he said "Thank you" that Judy, wondering if
there was any one to mend his clothes, had always longed to know him
better. It seemed so wonderful. How could he live without furniture,
house, regular meals--without possessions, in a word? It made him so
real. It was "real life," in fact, to live that way; and upon Judy
especially the impression was a deep one.
In addition to these occasional intruders, there was another person, an
Authority, but the most wonderful Authority of all, who came into their
lives a little later with a gradual and overwhelming effect, but who

cannot be mentioned more definitely just now because he has not yet
arrived. The world, in any case, speaking generally, was enormous; it
was endless; it was always dropping things and people upon them
without warning, as from a clear and cloudless sky. But this particular
individual was still climbing the great curve below their horizon, and
had not yet poked his amazing head above the edge.
Yet, strange to say, they had always believed that some such person
would arrive. A wonderful stranger was already on the way. They
rarely spoke of it--it was just a great, passionate expectancy tucked
away in the deepest corner of their hearts. Children possess this sense
of anticipation all the world over; grown-ups have it too in the form of
an unquenchable, though fading hope: the feeling that some day or
other a Wonderful Stranger will come up the pathway, knock at the
door, and enter their lives, making life worth living, full of wonder,
beauty, and delight, because he will make all things new.
This wonderful stranger, Judy had a vague idea, would be--be like at
least--the Tramp; Tim, following another instinct, was of the opinion he
would be a "soldier-explorer-hunter kind of man"; Maria, if she thought
anything at all about him, kept her decision securely hidden in her tight,
round body. But Judy qualified her choice by the hopeful assertion that
he would "come from the air"; and Tim had a secret notion that he
would emerge from a big, deep hole--pop out like a badger or a rabbit,
as it were--and suddenly declare himself; while Maria, by her
non-committal, universal attitude, perhaps believed that, if he came at
all, he would "just come from everywhere at once." She believed
everything, always, everywhere. But to assert that belief was to betray
the existence of a doubt concerning it. She just lived it.
For the three children belonged to three distinct classes, without
knowing that they did so. Tim loved anything to do with the ground,
with earth and soil, that is, things that made holes and lived in them, or
that did not actually make holes but just grubbed about; mysterious,
secret things, such as rabbits, badgers, hedgehogs, mice, rats, hares, and
weasels. In all his games the "earth" was home.
Judy, on the other hand, was indubitably an air person--birds amazed

her, filling her hungry heart with high aspirations, longings, and desires.
She looked, with her bright, eager face and spidery legs, distinctly
bird-like. She flitted, darted, perched. She had what Tim