"It's like my softest lawn. Your hair feels as my grass feels on the hill-tops, and the skin of your cheeks is smooth and cool as the water-surface of my lily ponds at midnight. I know you"--it raised its tones to singing. "You are children. I kiss you all!" "I feel you," Judy said in her clear, quiet voice. "But you're cold." "Not really," was the answer that seemed all over the room at once. "That's only the touch of space. I've come from very high up to-night. There's been a change. The lower wind was called away suddenly to the sea, and I dropped down with hardly a moment's warning to take its place. The sun has been very tiresome all day--overheating the currents." "Uncle, _you_ ask it everything," whispered Tim, "simply everything!" "Say how we love it, please," sighed Judy. "I feel it closing both my eyes." "It's over all my face," put in Maria, drawing her breath in loudly. "But my hair's lifting!" Judy exclaimed. "Oh, it's lovely, lovely!" Uncle Felix straightened himself up in the darkness. They could hear him breathing with the effort. "Please tell us what you do," he said. "We all can feel you touching us. Play with us as you play with trees and clouds and sleeping flowers along the hedgerows." A singing, whistling sound passed softly round the room; there was a whirr and a flutter as when a flight of bees or birds goes down the sky, and a voice, a plaintive yet happy voice, like the plover who cry to each other on the moors, was audible: "I run about the world at night, Yet cannot see; My hair has grown so thick these millions years, It covers me. So, like a big, blind thing I run about, And know all things by touching them. I touch them with my wings; I know each one of you By touching you; I touch your _hearts_!" "I feel you!" cried Judy. "I feel you touching me!" "And I, and I!" the others cried. "It's simply wonderful!" An enormous sigh of happiness went through that darkened room. "Then play with me!" they heard. "Oh, children, play with me!"