flat and covered with dry yellow grass.  Over this yellow plain he walked for hours, resting at times, but finding no water and no sweet roots to quench his thirst, until he was too tired to walk any further, and so he sat down on the dry grass under that wide blue sky.  There was not a cloud on it—­nothing but the great globe of the sun above him; and there was no wind and no motion in the yellow grass blades, and no sight or sound of any living creature.

Martin lying on his back gazed up at the blue sky, keeping his eyes from the sun, which was too bright for them, and after a time he did see something moving—­a small black spot no bigger than a fly moving in a circle.  But he knew it was something big, but at so great a height from the earth as to look like a fly.  And then he caught sight of a second black speck, then another and another, until he could make out a dozen or twenty, or more, all moving in wide circles at that vast height.

Martin thought they must be the black people of the sky; he wondered why they were black and not white, like white birds, or blue, and of other brilliant colours like the people of the Mirage.

Now it was impossible for Martin to lie like that, following those small black spots on the hot blue sky as they wheeled round and round continuously, without giving his eyes a little rest by shutting them at intervals.  By-and-by he kept them shut a little too long; he fell asleep, and when he woke he didn’t wake fully in a moment; he remained lying motionless just as before, with eyes still closed, but the lids just raised enough to enable him to see about him.  And the sight that met his eyes was very curious.  He was no longer alone in that solitary place.  There were people all round him, dozens and scores of little black men about two feet in height, of a very singular appearance.  They had bald heads and thin hatchet faces, wrinkled and warty, and long noses; and they all wore black silk clothes—­coat, waistcoat and knickerbockers, but without shoes and stockings; their thin black legs and feet were bare; nor did they have anything on their bald heads.  They were gathered round Martin in a circle, but a very wide circle quite twenty to thirty feet away from him, and some were walking about, others standing alone or in groups, talking together, and all looking at Martin.  Only one who appeared to be the most important person of the company kept inside the circle, and whenever one or more of the others came forward a few steps he held up his hand and begged them to go back a little.

“We must not be in a hurry,” he said.  “We must wait.”

“Wait for what?” asked one.

“For what may happen,” said the important one.  “I must ask you again to leave it to me to decide when it is time to begin.”  Then he strutted up and down in the open space, turning now towards his fellows and again to Martin, moving his head about to get a better sight of his face.  Then, putting his hand down between his coat and waistcoat he drew out a knife with a long shining blade, and holding it from him looked attentively at it.  By and by he breathed gently on the bright blade, then pulling out a black silk pocket handkerchief wiped off the stain of his breath, and turning the blade about made it glitter in the sun.  Then he put it back under his coat and resumed his walk up and down.