Last of all, just as the train was starting, came a hurrying shadowy thing with dreamy eyes, long hair like waving grass, and open hands that he spread like wings, as though he were sowing something through the air. And he was singing softly as he came fumbling along the byeways of the dusk. 'Oh, but I know _you_ well,' cried Rogers, watching him come with a thrill of secret wonder, 'and I love you better than all the rest together.' The face was hidden as he wafted silently past them. A delicious odour followed him. And something, fine as star-dust, as he scattered it all about him, sifted down before the other's sight. The Dustman entered like a ghost. 'Oh, give me of your dust!' cried Rogers again, 'for there are eyes that I would blind with it--eyes in the world that I would blind with it--your dust of dreams and beauty...!' The man waved a shadowy hand towards him, and his own eyes filled. He closed the lids a moment; and when he opened them again he saw two monster meteors in the sky. They crossed in two big lines of glory above the house, dropping towards the cedars. The Net of Stars was being fastened. He remembered then his old Star Cave--cave where lost starlight was stored up by these sprites for future use. He just had time to seize the little hand the Guard held out, and to drop into a seat beside her, when the train began to move. It rose soundlessly with lightning speed. It shot up to a tremendous height, then paused, hovering in the night. The Guard turned her big blue eyes upon him. 'Where to?' she whispered. And he suddenly remembered that it was always he who decided the destination, and that this time he was at a loss what to say. 'The Star Cave, of course,' he cried, 'the cave where the lost starlight gathers.' 'Which direction?' she asked, with the yellow whistle to her lips ready to signal the driver. 'Oh, out there--to the north-west,' he answered, 'to the mountains of --across the Channel.' But this was not precise enough. Formerly he had always given very precise directions. 'Name, please,' she urged, 'but quickly. The Interfering Sun, you know--there's no time to lose. We shall be meeting the Morning Spiders soon.' The Morning Spiders! How it all came back! The Morning Spiders that fly over the fields in the dawn upon their private threads of gossamer and fairy cotton. He remembered that, as children, they had never actually found this Star Cave, for the Interfering Sun had always come too soon and spoilt it all. 'Name, please, and do hurry up. We can't hover here all night,' rang in his ears. And he made a plunge. He suddenly thought of Bourcelles, the little village in the Jura mountains, where he and his cousin had spent a year learning French. The idea flashed into him probably because it contained mountains, caves, and children. His cousin lived there now to educate his children and write his books. Only that morning he had got a letter from him.