And Aunt Emily made one last vain attempt: she struggled to put her fingers in her ears. But the children held her hands. She crackled and made various oppressive and objecting sounds, but the song poured into her in spite of all her efforts. Her feet began to move upon the grass. It was awful, it was shocking, it was forbidden and against all rules and regulations: yet--Aunt Emily danced! And a thin, plaintive voice, like the voice of her long-forgotten youth, slipped out between her faded lips--and positively sang: "The world is young with laughter; we can fly Among the imprisoned hours as we choose...." But to Tim and Judy it all seemed merely right and natural. "Come on," cried the boy, pulling his Aunt towards the wood. "We can look together now. You've got your sign," exclaimed Judy, tugging at her other hand. "Everything's free and careless, and so are we." "Aim for a path," Tim shouted by way of a concession. "Aunty'll go quicker on a path." But Aunty was nothing if not decided. "I know a short-cut," she sang. "Paths are for people who don't know the way. There's no time--to lose. Dear me! I'm warm already!" She dropped her umbrella. And, actually dancing and singing, she led the way into the wood, holding the fern before her like a wand, and happy as a girl let out of school. But as they went, Judy, knowing suddenly another thing she didn't know, made a discovery of her own, an immense discovery. It was bigger than anything Tim had ever found. She felt so light and swift and winged by it that she seemed almost to melt into the air herself. "I say, Tim," she said. "Yes." She took her eyes from the sky to see what her feet were doing; Tim lifted his from the earth to see what was going on above him in the air. Judy went on: "I know what," she announced. "What?" He was not particularly interested, it seemed. Judy paused. She dropped a little behind her dancing Aunt. Tim joined her. It all happened as quickly as a man might snap his fingers; Aunt Emily, her heart full of growing ferns, noticed nothing. "We've found her out!" whispered Judy, communicating her immense discovery. "What she really is, I mean!" He agreed and nodded. It did not strike him as anything wonderful or special. "Oh, yes," he answered; "rather!" He did not grasp her meaning, perhaps. But his sister was bursting with excitement, radiant, shivering almost with the wonder of it. "But don't you see? It's--a sign!" she exclaimed so loud that Aunt Emily almost heard it. "She's found herself! She was hiding--from herself. That's part of it all--the game. It's the biggest sign of all!" She was so "warm" that she burned all over.