Boys -- Juvenile fiction; Fantasy literature; Nature -- Juvenile fiction; Self-reliance -- Juvenile fiction
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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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