wood, till hue and scent
were of one quality and interchangeable.

Even so, ere this, the pot-pourri had mixed itself with the tints of the
old brocade, and brocade and pot-pourri had long been one.

With expectant fingers I explored the empty pigeon-holes and sounded the
depths of the softly-sliding drawers. No books that I knew of gave any
general recipe for a quest like this; but the glory, should I succeed
unaided, would be all the greater.

To him who is destined to arrive, the fates never fail to afford, on the
way, their small encouragements; in less than two minutes, I had come
across a rusty button-hook. This was truly magnificent. In the nursery
there existed, indeed, a general button-hook, common to either sex;
but none of us possessed a private and special button-hook, to lend or
refuse as suited the high humour of the moment. I pocketed the treasure
carefully and proceeded. At the back of another drawer, three old
foreign stamps told me I was surely on the highroad to fortune.

Following on these bracing incentives, came a dull blank period of
unrewarded search. In vain I removed all the drawers and felt over every
inch of the smooth surfaces, from front to back. Never a knob, spring
or projection met the thrilling finger-tips; unyielding the old bureau
stood, stoutly guarding its secret, if secret it really had. I began
to grow weary and disheartened. This was not the first time that Uncle
Thomas had proved shallow, uninformed, a guide into blind alleys where
the echoes mocked you. Was it any good persisting longer? Was anything
any good whatever? In my mind I began to review past disappointments,
and life seemed one long record of failure and of non-arrival.
Disillusioned and depressed, I left my work and went to the window.
The light was ebbing from the room, and outside seemed to be collecting
itself on the horizon for its concentrated effort of sunset. Far down
the garden, Uncle Thomas was holding Edward in the air reversed, and
smacking him. Edward, gurgling hysterically, was striking blind fists in
the direction where he judged his uncle's stomach should rightly be; the
contents of his pockets--a motley show--were strewing the lawn. Somehow,
though I had been put through a similar performance an hour or two ago,
myself, it all seemed very far away and cut off from me.

Westwards the clouds were massing themselves in a low violet bank; below
them, to north and south, as far round as eye could reac