The Extra Day | Page 7

seem
even smaller than it was--"
"I like rabbits, though."
"Till one fine day--"
"They were all fine, you said."
"One finer day than usual the rabbit made a horrible discovery. The
way it made the discovery was curious--may seem curious to us, at
least--but the fact is, it suddenly noticed that the size of its front teeth
had grown out of all proportion to the size of the island. Looking over
its shoulder this fine day, it realised how absurdly small the island was

in comparison with its teeth--and grasped the horrid truth. In a flash it
understood what was happening. The island was getting wetter because
it was also getting--smaller!"
"Ugh! How beastly!"
"Did it tell the others?"
"It retired half-way down its hole and shouted out the news to the
others in the hut."
"Did they hear it?"
"It warned them solemnly. But its teeth obstructed the sound, and the
windings of its hole made it difficult to hear. The man, besides, was
busy telling a story to the mouse, and the mouse, anyhow, was sound
asleep at the bottom of his pocket, with the result that the only one who
caught the words of warning was--the squirrel. For a squirrel's ears are
so sharp that it can even hear the grub whistling to itself inside a rotten
nut; and it instantly took action."
"Ah! IT saved them, then?"
"The squirrel flew from the man's shoulder where it was perched,
balanced for a second on the top of his head, then clung to the ceiling
and darted out of the window without a moment's delay. It crossed the
island in a single leap, scuttled to the top of the tree, peered about over
the diminishing landscape, and--"
"Didn't it see the rabbit?"
"And returned as quickly as it went. It bustled back into the hut,
hopping nervously, and jerking its head with excitement. In a moment
it was perched again on the man's shoulder. It carefully kept its bushy
tail out of the way of his nose and eyes. And then it whispered what it
had seen into his left ear."
"Why into his left ear?"

"Because it was the right one, and the other had cotton wool in it."
"Like Aunt Emily!"
"What did it whisper?"
"The squirrel had made a discovery, too," continued the teller,
solemnly.
"Goodness! That's two discoveries!"
"But what did it whisper?"
In the hush that followed, a coal was heard falling softly into the grate;
the night-wind moaned against the outside walls; Judy scraped her
stockinged foot slowly along the iron fender, making a faint twanging
sound. Breathing was distinctly audible. For several moments the room
was still as death. The figure, smothered beneath the clotted mass of
children, heaved a sigh. But no one broke the pause. It was too precious
and wonderful to break at once. All waited breathlessly, like birds
poised in mid-air before they strike ... until a new sound stole faintly
upon the listening silence, a faint and very distant sound, barely audible
as yet, but of unmistakable character. It was far away in the upper
reaches of the building, overhead, remote, a little stealthy. Like the
ominous murmur of a muffled drum, it had approach in it. It was
coming nearer and nearer. It was significant and threatening.
For the first time that evening the ticking of the clock was also audible.
But the new sound, though somewhat in league with the ticking, and
equally remorseless, did not come from the clock. It was a human
sound, the most awful known to childhood. It was footsteps on the
stairs!
Both the children and the story-teller heard it, but with different results.
The latter stirred and looked about him, as though new hope and
strength had come to him. The former, led by Tim and Judy, broke
simultaneously into anxious speech. Maria, having slept profoundly
since the first mention of the mouse in its cosy pocket, gave no sign at

all.
"Oh, quick! quick! What did the squirrel whisper in his good right ear?
What was it? DO hurry, please!"
"It whispered two simple words, each of one syllable," continued the
reanimated figure, his voice lowered and impressive. "It said--the sea!"
The announcement made by the squirrel was so entirely unexpected
that the surprise of it buried all memory of the disagreeable sound. The
children sat up and stared into the figure's face questioningly. Surely he
had made a slight mistake. How could the sea have anything to do with
it? But no word was spoken, no actual question asked. This
overwhelming introduction of the sea left him poised far beyond their
reach. His stories were invariably marvellous. He would somehow
justify himself.
"The Sea!" whispered Tim to Judy, and there was intense admiration in
his voice and eyes.