or you'll break the hands off"; and "I thought he'd, better have the
square sort, and not the tubes. They're so squashy"; and "You'll be
able to learn your Collect so easily with that big print, Jerry
dear. Very kind of you, Amy."

Meanwhile he was aware that Uncle Samuel had given him nothing.
There was a little thick catch of disappointment in his throat, not
because he wanted a present, but because he liked Uncle Samuel.
Suddenly, from somewhere behind him his uncle said: "Shut your eyes,
Jerry. Don't open them until I tell you"--then rather crossly, "No,
Amy, leave me alone. I know what I'm about, thank you."

Jeremy shut his eyes tight. He closed them so that the eyelids
seemed to turn right inwards and red lights flashed. He stood there
for at least a century, all in darkness, no one saying anything save
that once Mary cried "Oh!" and clapped her hands, which same cry
excited him to such a pitch that he would have dug his nails into
his hands had he not so consistently in the past bitten them that
there were no nails with which to dig. He waited. He waited. He
waited. He was not eight, he was eighty when at last Uncle Samuel
said, "Now you may look."

He opened his eyes and turned; for a moment the nursery, too, rocked
in the unfamiliar light. Then he saw. On the middle of the nursery
carpet was a village, a real village, six houses with red roofs,
green windows and white porches, a church with a tower and a tiny
bell, an orchard with flowers on the fruit trees, a green lawn, a
street with a butcher's shop, a post office, and a grocer's.
Villager Noah, Mrs. Noah and the little Noahs, a field with cows,
horses, dogs, a farm with chickens and even two pigs. . .