was to betray the existence of a doubt concerning it. She just lived
it.

For the three children belonged to three distinct classes, without
knowing that they did so. Tim loved anything to do with the ground,
with earth and soil, that is, things that made holes and lived in
them, or that did not actually make holes but just grubbed about;
mysterious, secret things, such as rabbits, badgers, hedgehogs, mice,
rats, hares, and weasels. In all his games the "earth" was home.

Judy, on the other hand, was indubitably an air person--birds amazed
her, filling her hungry heart with high aspirations, longings, and
desires. She looked, with her bright, eager face and spidery legs,
distinctly bird-like. She flitted, darted, perched. She had what Tim
called a "tweaky" nose, though whether he meant that it was beak-like
or merely twitched, he never stated; it was just "tweaky," and Judy
took it as a compliment. One could easily imagine her shining little
face peeping over the edge of a nest, the rest of her sitting warmly
upon half a dozen smooth, pink eggs. Her legs certainly seemed stuck
into her like pencils, as with a robin or a seagull. She adored
everything that had wings and flew; she was of the air; it was her
element.

Maria's passions were unknown. Though suspected of being universal,
since she manifested no deliberate likes or dislikes, approving all
things with a kind of majestic and indifferent omnipotence, they
remained quiescent and undeclared. She probably just loved the
universe. She felt at home in it. To Maria the entire universe
belonged, because she sat still and with absolute conviction--claimed
it.