again.

Then Time began.

For some ten minutes of it he tried loyally to sleep, counting a great
number of thistles in a row, "Da's" old recipe for bringing slumber. He
seemed to have been hours counting. It must, he thought, be nearly time
for her to come up now. He threw the bedclothes back. "I'm hot!" he
said, and his voice sounded funny in the darkness, like someone else's.
Why didn't she come? He sat up. He must look! He got out of bed, went to
the window and pulled the curtain a slice aside. It wasn't dark, but he
couldn't tell whether because of daylight or the moon, which was very
big. It had a funny, wicked face, as if laughing at him, and he did not
want to look at it. Then, remembering that his mother had said moonlit
nights were beautiful, he continued to stare out in a general way. The
trees threw thick shadows, the lawn looked like spilt milk, and a long,
long way he could see; oh! very far; right over the world, and it all
looked different and swimmy. There was a lovely smell, too, in his open
window.

'I wish I had a dove like Noah!' he thought.

"The moony moon was round and bright, It shone and shone and made it
light."

After that rhyme, which came into his head all at once, he became
conscious of music, very soft-lovely! Mum playing! He bethought himself
of a macaroon he had, laid up in his chest of drawers, and, getting it,
came back to the window. He leaned out, now munching, now holding his
jaws to hear the music better. "Da" used to say that angels played on