“It made you feel pretty peculiar, didn't it?” “It made me feel lovely,” Matilda said.
“For a moment or two I was flying past the stars on silver wings. I told you that.”
“And shall I tell you something else, Miss Honey? It was easier the second time, much much easier.”
“I think it's like anything else, the more you practise it, the easier it gets.”
Miss Honey was walking slowly so that the small child could keep up with her without trotting too fast,
and it was very peaceful out there on the narrow road now that the village was behind them.
It was one of those golden autumn afternoons and there were blackberries and splashes of old man's beard in the hedges,
and the hawthorn berries were ripening scarlet for the birds when the cold winter came along.
There were tall trees here and there on either side, oak and sycamore and ash and occasionally a sweet chestnut.
Miss Honey, wishing to change the subject for the moment, gave the names of all these to Matilda
and taught her how to recognise them by the shape of their leaves and the pattern of the bark on their trunks.
Matilda took all this in and stored the knowledge away carefully in her mind.
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