And they saw it actually happen. From the summits of the distant Alps ran filmy lines of ebony that knotted themselves on to the crests of the pines beside them. There were so many no eye could follow them. They flew and darted everywhere, dropping like needles from the sky itself, sewing the tent of darkness on to the main supports, and threading the starlight as they came. Night slowly brought her beauty and her mystery upon the world. The filmy pattern opened. There was a tautness in the lines that made one feel they would twang with delicate music if the wind swept its hand more rapidly across them. And now and again all vibrated, each line making an ellipse between its fastened ends, then gradually settling back to its thin, almost invisible bed. Cables of thick, elastic darkness steadied them. How much of it all the children realised themselves, or how much flashed into them from their cousin's mind, is of course a thing not even a bat can tell. 'Is that why bats fly in such a muddle? Like a puzzle?' 'Of course,' he said. The bats were at last explained. They built their little pictures for themselves. No living being can lie on the edge of a big pine forest when twilight brings the darkness without the feeling that everything becomes too wonderful for words. The children as ever fed his fantasy, while he thought he did it all himself. Dusk wore a shroud to entangle the too eager stars, and make them stay. 'I never noticed it before,' murmured Monkey against his coat sleeve. 'Does it happen every night like this?' 'You only see it if you look very closely,' was the low reply. 'You must think hard, very hard. The more you think, the more you'll see.' 'But really,' asked Jimbo, 'it's only--_crepuscule, comme ca,_ isn't it?' And his fingers tightened on his leader's hand. 'Dusk, yes,' answered Cousin Henry softly, 'only dusk. But people everywhere are watching it like ourselves, and thinking feather thoughts. You can see the froth of stars flung up over the crest of Night. People are watching it from windows and fields and country roads everywhere, wondering what makes it so beautiful. It brings yearnings and long, long desires. Only a few like ourselves can see the lines of scaffolding, but everybody who thinks about it, and loves it, makes it more real for others to see, too. Daddy's probably watching it too from his window.' 'I wonder if Jinny ever sees it,' Monkey asked herself. But Jimbo knew. 'She's in it,' he decided. 'She's always in places like that; that's where she lives.'