Everychild pondered that.  It gave him a deep feeling of comfort.  He gazed away into the mysterious sky.  He mused, “What a journey I shall have to-morrow, with my new friend by my side.”

He fell asleep repeating the words, “A little bit of God—­a little bit of God . . .”

CHAPTER VII

THE ADVENTURE OF WILL O’DREAMS

Scarcely had he fallen asleep when a stealthy figure emerged from the gloom of night and sought out the place where Will o’Dreams lay sleeping.  The stealthy figure proved to be none other than Mr. Literal; and after he had stood looking down upon the sleeping band an instant, he kicked the Giant’s foot warily.

The giant was up in an instant.  His first thought was that his services were needed.  There was no hint of resentment in his heart; and he proved his gentle qualities by moving carefully, so that the others would not be disturbed.

He bent his head above Mr. Literal to hear what he had to say.

“Follow me!” said Mr. Literal coldly; and without more ado he turned and led the way into the depths of the forest, the giant following him wonderingly.

They came before long to an old house with all the blinds drawn save at one window, through which the beams of a lamp shone dimly.

Mr. Literal opened the front door, which creaked angrily.  He lighted a hall lamp so that he and the giant might find their way up a flight of stairs in safety.  A musty odor filled the giant’s nostrils, causing him to wrinkle his nose slightly.  But he said nothing.

Up the stairway they proceeded, and into a study.  It was in this room that a lamp had been left burning.

Mr. Literal approached a table and drew forth two chairs.  “Sit down,” he said, still without looking at the giant.  And Will o’Dreams seated himself in one of the chairs and waited for Mr. Literal to explain his somewhat peculiar behavior.

As an immediate explanation did not seem to be forthcoming, he employed his spare time in looking about the room.  There was dust everywhere, and frayed rugs and faded hangings.  But there were a number of busts which were really a delight to the eye:  of Shakespeare, of Burns, of Victor Hugo, of Dickens and of others.  And there were book cases filled to overflowing with books—­all dust-covered, as if they had not been touched for years.

Mr. Literal took a seat at last; and for a moment there was silence in the room and throughout the old house, save that a window rattled somewhere in the night breezes.  Then Mr. Literal leaned forward deliberately, his finger tips fitted together and his lips drawn into very prim lines.  And at last he spoke.

“Listen to me, Mr. Will o’Dreams:  I know you!” His tone was triumphant, merciless.

But the giant only nodded politely and said, “Very well, Mr. Literal; and I know you, too!”