The Tramp signified his agreement. "But you must each get a feather first," he told them, "a feather that a bird has dropped. It's a sign that we belong together. Birds know everything first. They go everywhere and see everything all at once. They're in the air, and on the ground, and on the water, and under it as well. They live in the open--sea or land. And if you have a feather in your hand--well, it means keeping in touch with everything that's going. They go light and easy; we must go light and easy too." They stared at him with wonder at the breaking point. It all seemed so obviously and marvellously true. How had they missed it up till now? "So get a feather," he went on quietly, "and then we can begin to look at once." No one objected, no one criticised, no one hesitated. Tim knew where all the feathers were because he knew every nest in the garden. He led the way. In less than two minutes all had small, soft feathers in their hands. "Now, we'll begin to look," the Tramp announced. "It's the loveliest game on earth, and the only one. It's Hide-and-Seek behind the rushing minutes. And, remember," he added, holding up a finger and chuckling happily, "there's no hurry, the wind's a-blowing free, the sun is warm, everything's sweet and careless--and so are we." THE COMMON SIGNS V "But has he called yet?" asked Tim, remembering suddenly that it wasn't fair to begin till the hider announced that he was ready. "He's got to hoot first, you know. Hasn't he?" he added doubtfully. "Listen!" replied the man of the long white roads. And he held his feather close against his ear, while the others copied him. Fixing their eyes upon a distant point, they listened, and as they listened, their lips relaxed, their mouths opened slowly, their eyebrows lifted--they heard, apparently, something too wonderful to be believed. To Uncle Felix, still fumbling in his mind among unnecessary questions, it seemed that the power of hearing had awakened for the first time, or else had grown of a sudden extraordinarily acute. The children merely listened and said "Oh, oh, oh!"; the sound they heard was familiar, though never fully understood till now. For him, it was, perhaps, the recovery of a power he had long forgotten. At any rate he--heard. For the air passed through the tiny fronds of the feather--through the veined web of its delicate resistance--round the hollow stem and across the fluffy breadth of it--with a humming music as of wind among the telegraph wires, only infinitely sweet and far away. There were several notes in it, a chord--the music that accompanies all flying things, even a butterfly or settling leaf, and ever fills the air with unguessed melody.