"Oh, please hush!" warned Judy. "Aunt Emily, you know--" Even at Tunbridge Wells Aunt Emily might hear and send a telegram with No in it. "Has it lost its breath?" Tim asked, however. But, though it was in the middle of tea, Uncle Felix could not restrain himself, and burst into one of his ridiculous singing fits, instead of answering in a whisper as he should have done. "Burst" described it accurately. And his feet kept time beneath the table. It was the proper place for Time, he explained. The clocks are stopped, the calendars are wrong, Time holds gigantic finger-hands Before his guilty face. Listen a moment! I can hear the song That no one understands-- "It's the blue dragon-fly," interrupted Tim, remembering the story of long ago. "It's the Night-Wind--out by day," cried Judy. "It's both and neither," sang the man, "This song I hear. It first began Before the hurrying race Of ticking, and of tearing pages Deafened the breathless ages: It is the happy singing Of wind among the rigging Of our Extra Day!" "It's something anyhow," decided Judy, rather impressed by her uncle's fit of bursting. And, somehow, Dawn was the password and Tomorrow the key. No one knew more than that. It had to do with Time, for Uncle Felix had taken the stopped clock to his room and hidden it there lest somebody like Jackman or Thompson should wind it up. Later, however, he gave it for safer keeping to Maria, because she moved so rarely and did so little that was unnecessary that she seemed the best repository of all. Also, this was _her_ particular adventure, and what risk there was belonged properly to her. But beyond this they knew nothing, and they didn't want to know. In the immediate future, just before the gateway of To-morrow's dawn, a great gap lay waiting, a gap they had discovered alone of all the world. The scientists had made a mistake, the Government had been afraid to deal with it, the rest of the world lay in ignorance of its very existence even. It satisfied all the conditions of real adventure, since it was unique, impossible, and had never happened to any one before. They, with Uncle Felix, had discovered it. It belonged to them entirely--the most marvellous secret that anybody could possibly imagine. Maria, they took for granted, would share it with them. A hole in Time lay waiting to receive them. A _Day Will Come_ at last was actually coming. "We'd better pack up," said Judy after tea. She said it calmly, but the voice had a whisper of intense expectancy in it. "Pack up nothing," Uncle Felix reproved her quickly. "The important thing is--don't wind up. Just go on as usual. It will be best," he added significantly, "if you all hand over your timepieces to me at once." And, without a word, they recognised his wisdom and put their treasures into his waistcoat pockets--watches of silver, tin, and gunmetal. His use of the strange word "timepieces" was convincing. The unusual was in the air.