The Extra Day | Page 5

his force, making sounds in his
throat like an excited animal: "Ugh! ugh! ugh!...!"
The hug was returned with equal vigour, but without the curious sounds;
Maria was hugged as well and set upon her feet; while Judy, having
already been sufficiently hugged, pushed the arm-chair closer up to the
fire and waited patiently for the proper business of the evening to
begin.
The figure, meanwhile, disentangled itself. It was tall and thin, with a
mild, resigned expression upon a kindly face that years and care had
lined before its time: old-fashioned rather, with soft, grey whiskers
belonging to an earlier day. A black tail-coat adorned it, and the
neck-tie was crooked in the turned-down collar. The watch-chain went
from the waist-coat button to one pocket only, instead of right across,
and one finger wore a heavy signet-ring that bore the family crest. It
was obviously the figure of an overworked official in the Civil Service
who had returned from its daily routine in London to the evening
routine of its family in the country, the atmosphere of Government and
the Underground still hanging round it. For sundry whiffs of the
mysterious city reached the children's nostrils, bringing thrills of some
strange, remote reality they had never known at first-hand. They busied
themselves at once. While Tim unbuttoned the severe black coat and

pulled it off, Judy brought a jacket of dingy tweed from behind a
curtain in the corner, and stood on a chair to help the figure put it on.
All knew their duties; the performance went like clockwork. And Maria
sat and watched in helpful silence. There was a certain air about her as
though she did it all.
"How they do spoil me, to be sure," the figure murmured to itself; "yet
Mother's always saying that I spoil them. I wonder...!"
"Now you look decent at last," said Judy. "You smell like a nice
rabbit."
"It's my shooting-coat." The figure cleared its throat, apparently on the
defensive a little.
Tim and Judy sniffed it. "Rabbits and squirrels and earth and things,"
thought Tim.
"And flowers and burning leaves," said Judy. "It's his old garden-coat
as well." She sniffed very audibly. "Oh, I love that smoky smell."
"It's the good old English smell," said the figure contentedly, while they
put his neck-tie straight and arranged the pocket flaps for him. "It's
English country--England."
"Don't other countries smell, then?" inquired Tim. "I mean, could any
one tell you were English by your smell?" He sniffed again, with
satisfaction. "Weeden's the same," he went on, without waiting for an
answer, "only much stronger, and so's the potting shed."
"But yours is sweeter much," said Judy quickly. To share odours with
an Authority like the Head Gardener was distinctly a compliment, but
Daddy must come first, whatever happened. "How funny," she added,
half to herself, "that England should have such a jolly smell. I wonder
what it comes from?"
"Where does England come from?" asked Tim, pausing a moment to
stare into the figure's face. "It's an island, of course--England--but--"

"A piece of land surrounded by water," began the figure, but was not
allowed to finish. A chorus of voices interrupted:
"Make a story of it, please. There's just time. There's half an hour. It's
nice and dark. Ugh! Something very awful or very silly, please...."
There followed a general scuffle for seats, with bitter complaints that
he only had two pointed knees. Maria was treated with scant respect.
There was also criticism of life--that he had no lap, "no proper lap,"
that it was too dark to see his face, that everybody in turn had got "the
best place," but, chiefly, that there was "very little time." Time was a
nuisance always: it either was time to go, or time to stop, or else there
was not time enough. But at length quiet was established; the big
arm-chair resembled a clot of bees upon a honeycomb; the fire burned
dully, and the ceiling was thick with monstrous fluttering shadows,
vaguely shaped.
"Now, please. We've been ready for ages."
A deep hush fell upon the room, and only a sound of confused
breathing was audible. The figure heaved a long, deep sigh as though it
suffered pain, paused, cleared its throat, then sighed again more heavily
than before. For the moment of creation was at hand, and creation is not
accomplished without much travail.
But the children loved the pause, the sigh, the effort. Not realising with
what difficulty the stories were ground out, nor that it was an effort
against time--to make a story last till help came from outside --they
believed that something immense and wonderful was on the way, and
held their breath with beating hearts. Daddy's stories were always
marvellous; this one would be no exception.
Marvellous up