"That _is_ the point," agreed Uncle Felix, nodding his head. "Some one must have made it--some day--mustn't they?" They stared at him, as probably the animals stared at Adam, wondering what their splendid names were going to be. The yearning in their eyes was enough to make a rock produce sweet-scented thyme. Even the looper steadied its pin-point head to listen. But nothing happened. Uncle Felix looked dumber than the clock. He looked hot, confused, and muddled too. He kept his eyes upon the grass. He fumbled in his pockets for a match. He spoke no word. "What?" asked Tim abruptly, by way of a hint that something further was expected of him. Uncle Felix looked up with a start. Like Proteus who changed his shape to save himself the trouble of prophesying, he swiftly changed the key to save himself providing accurate information that he didn't possess. "It wasn't a circle, exactly," he said slowly; "it was a thought, a great, white, wonderful, shining thought. That's what started the whole business first," and he looked round hopefully at the eager faces. "Somebody thought it all," he went on, recklessly, "and it all came true that way. See?" They waited in silence for particulars. "Somebody thought it all out first," he elaborated, "and so it simply _had_ to happen." There was an interval of some thirty seconds, and then Tim asked: "But who thought _him_?" He said it with much emphasis. Uncle Felix sat up with energy and lit his pipe. His listeners drew closer, with the exception of Maria, whose life seemed concentrated in her fixed and steady eyes. "It's like this, you see," the man explained between the puffs; "if you go into the schoolroom, you find a lot of things lying about everywhere--blocks, toys, engines, and all sorts of things--don't you?" "Yes," they agreed, without enthusiasm. "Well," he continued, "what's the good of them until you _think_ something about them--think them into something--some game or meaning or other? They're nothing but a lot of useless stuff just lying untidily upon the floor. See what I mean?" They nodded, but again without enthusiasm. "With our End of the World place," he went on, seeing that they listened attentively, "it's the same again. It was nothing but a rubbish-heap until we thought it into something wonderful--which, of course, it is," he hastened to add. "But by thinking about it, we discovered--we _created_ it!" They nodded again. Somebody grunted. Maria watched the caterpillar crawling up his sleeve. "The things--the place and the toys," he resumed hopefully, "were there all the time, but they meant nothing--they weren't alive--until we thought about them." He blew a cloud of smoke. "So, you see," he continued with an effort, "if we could only _think out_ what everything meant, we could--er--find out what--what everything meant--and where it came from. Everything would be all right, don't you see?"