"But that's what I like best," he exclaimed. "Look at the colour, will you--blue and cream and yellow! You can hear the Ganges in it, if you listen close enough." He held a small, coloured snail-shell between his sinewy fingers, then placed it against his ear, while the others, caught by a strange enveloping sense of wonder, stared and listened, swept for a moment into another world. "How marvellous!" whispered some one. "Extrornary!" another murmured. "Yes," said Maria. Her voice made a sound like a thin stone falling from a height into water. But Maria had said the same thing as the others, only said it shorter. An entire language lay in that mono-syllable. Again, it was the point of view of doing, saying one enormous thing. And Maria's point of view was everywhere at once--the centre. "Listen!" she added the next minute. Perhaps the sunlight quivering on the surface of the stream confused them, or perhaps it was the murmur and movement of the leaves upon the banks that brought the sense of sweet, queer bewilderment upon all five. A new sound there certainly was--footsteps, as though some one came dancing--voices, as though some one sang. Figures were seen in the distance among the waving world of green; they moved behind the cataract of falling willow branches; and their distance was as the distance of a half-remembered dream. "They're coming," gasped Judy below her breath. "They're coming back," Tim whispered, the tone muffled, underground. "Eh?" ejaculated Stumper. "Coming back?" His voice, too, had distance in it. Whether they saw it in the reflections on the running water, or whether the maze of shadow and sunshine in the wooded banks produced it, no one knew exactly. The figures, at any rate, were plainly visible, moving along with singing and dancing through the summery noontide of the brilliant day. No one spoke while they went by, no one except Maria who at intervals murmured "Yes." There was no other audible comment or remark. They afterwards agreed that Weeden was seen clearest, but Thompson and Mrs. Horton were fairly distinct as well, and bringing up the rear was a figure in blue that could only have been the Policeman who lived usually upon the high road to London. They carried flowers in their arms, they moved lightly and quickly--it was uncommonly like dancing--and their voices floated through the woodland spaces with a sound that, if it was not singing, was at least an excellent imitation--an attempt to sing! "They're not lost," said Tim, as they disappeared from view. "They're just looking--for the way." "The way home," said Judy. "And they're following some one--who knows it."