gave at the time of the National Registration."

"I forget," said the Stranger. "I remember that I put down my trade as
Magic, and they registered it on my card as 'Machinist.' Yet Magic, I
believe, is a starred profession."

"What is your trade really?" asked Miss Ford.

"I'll show you," replied the Stranger, unbuttoning once more the flap of
her pocket.

* * * * *

She wrote a word upon the air with her finger, and made a flourish under
the word. So flowery was the flourish that it span her round, right
round upon her toes, and she faced her watchers again. The committee
jumped, for the blind ran up, and outside the window, at the end of a
strange perspective of street, the trees of some far square were as soft
as thistledown against a lemon-coloured sky. A sound came up the
street....

The forgotten April and the voices of lambs pealed like bells into the
room....

Oh, let us flee from April! We are but swimmers in seas of words, we
members of committees, and to the song of April there are no words. What
do we know, and what does London know, after all these years of
learning?

Old Mother London crouches, with her face buried in her hands; and she