It may be that intervals went by, those intervals called years and months; yet no one noticed them, and certainly no one named them. They knew one feeling only--the joy of endless search. Some one was hiding, some one was near, and signs lay scattered everywhere. This some one lay in his wonderful hiding-place and watched their search with laughter in his eyes. He remained invisible; perhaps they would never see him actually; but they felt his presence everywhere, in every object, every tree and flower and stone, in sun and wind, in water and in earth. The power and loveliness of common things became insistent. They were aware of them. It seemed they brushed against this shining presence, pushing for ever against a secret door of exit that led into the final hiding-place. Eager to play with them, yet more eager still to be discovered, the wonderful hider kept just beyond their sight and touch, while covering the playground with endless signs that he was near enough for them to know for certain he was--there. For among the four of them there was no heart that doubted. None explained. None said No.... Nor was there any hurry. "_I_ believe," announced Tim at length, with the air of a sage about him, "the best way is to sit still and wait; then he'll just come out like a rabbit and show himself." And, as no one contradicted, he added confidently, "that's _my_ idea." His love was evidently among the things of the soil, rabbits, rats and hedgehogs, both hunter and adventurer strong in him. "A hole!" cried Judy with indignation. "Never! He's in the air. I heard a bird just now that--" "Whew!" whistled Uncle Felix, interrupting her excitedly. "He's been along here. Look! I'm sure of it." And he said it with such conviction that they ran up, expecting actual footprints. "How do you know?" Tim asked dubiously, seeing no immediate proof himself. All paused for the reply; but Uncle Felix also paused. He had said a thing it seemed he could not justify. "Don't hesitate," said the Tramp, watching him with amusement. "Don't think before you speak. There's nothing to think about until you've spoken." Uncle Felix wore an expression of bewilderment. "I meant the flowers," he stammered, still unsure of his new powers. "Of course," the other chuckled. "Didn't I tell you 'tender and beautiful,' and 'bang out in the open'?" "Then you're right, Uncle; they _are_ signs," cried Judy, "and you _do_ like butter," and she danced away to pick the dandelions that smothered the field with gold. But the Tramp held out his feather like a wand. "They're our best signs, remember," he cried. "You might as well pick a feather out of a living bird."