“What’s all this?  What’s all this?” cried a small voice; and Neville saw beside the silver gateway, a little man dressed from top to toe in silver grey.  It was the Porter of the Dawn, sometimes called the First Sunbeam.

Before Neville could answer, the little grey man had caught sight of the Sky Flower.

“Ah, you have the talisman,” said he.  “Pass in! and don’t stop to gossip, because I’m very busy this morning.  A pleasant journey,” he added as he smacked the cloud horse on the shoulder; and in an instant Neville had passed through the dawn and plunged into the night.

It was a dark night, with no moon, for the sky was overcast with dense clouds.  Above these the Cloud horse flew, and overhead Neville saw the rushing stars, and below only the blackness of heavy clouds.  But more often the Cloud horse flew low, and then there was little to be seen.  By the lights of moving ships Neville knew that sometimes he was above the sea.  Sometimes twinkling lights in towns or solitary farms, or the sudden blaze of a great city told him that the land was beneath him.  Once, through the blackness, he saw a great forest fire upon an island, and the light of it lit up the sea, and showed the natives crowded upon the beach and in the shallows, and some making off in canoes.

Then darkness swallowed the Cloud Horse again, and the blazing island was left far behind.

After that, Neville began to feel a little drowsy.  Perhaps he did sleep a little, for the next thing he saw was a faint light in the sky before him, as though the dawn were coming.  But he knew it must be the evening, because he was coming back to the place from which he had started, and was catching up with the sun.  You see, he had only been gone a few minutes.

The Cloud Horse flew very low now; and rapidly the darkness grew less.  Then, long before he expected it, Neville saw the roof of his own home below him.  He could see the garden in the twilight and his own dog sniffing about among the trees as though in search of him.

Neville began to think about jumping now, and he was rather nervous.  He might land softly and he might not.  He only had the wee yellow man’s word for that.

Then, to his horror, he saw that they had passed his home and were over the bald hill.  There was no time to lose.  The Cloud Horse was taking him into the sunset again, and, if he did, what would the head scene-shifter say then?

So, grasping the Sky Flower very tightly, Neville closed his eyes and jumped.  He half expected to fall quickly and be dashed to pieces upon the earth; but, instead, he floated in the air like a feather, swaying and drifting, and slowly sinking all the time towards the ground.  It was a very pleasant sensation indeed.

The bald hill was beneath him as he came slowly down, down, down.

He could see the Cloud Horse—­now little more than a small white speck—­rushing on to catch the sunset.  And still he sank down ever so slowly towards the top of the bald hill.