“That is part of Make Believe Land,” said Bizzybuzz, “and a very important part, too: the City of Dreams. Some day you shall go there, if you like, and see the Garden of Good Dreams and the Forest of Nightmares. That city is on the dividing line between the Real World and Make Believe Land. See where the coloured clouds begin! First they are gray and dull,—that is because they are still on the side of the Real World; then they grow bright and lovely, for they are floating, as we are, over the City of Dreams.” The owl flew on faster and faster. All sorts of wonderful things glimmered past beneath: forests of silver trees with fruit of gold, meadows with jewels for flowers, green woodland places from which the softest magical music rose forever, dreamy gardens, and marvellous rivers; and still on and on they went. “Ah!” exclaimed Bizzybuzz, and his voice sounded quite frightened. “Look well now, for this is a place which you will hear of very soon again: this is the Sea of Glass!” The Sea of Glass was broad and gleaming. There was something very queer about its motionless, shiny surface. It was still a little distance away, but just under them was a city built entirely of some bright red stuff. It glittered scarlet in the soft light. “What is this place under us?” asked Dick. “That,” said Bizzybuzz, in a shuddering whisper, “is the terrible Red City,—the City of the Wicked King!” They wanted to ask more about it, but there were too many things at which to look. I could not even try to describe to you that wonderful flight over Make Believe Land. The children never forgot it, and among their many strange adventures it really made the greatest impression,—perhaps because it was the first. At last they found themselves flying over a wooded country, where there were quaint little houses and funny animals,—and even groups of people, all in Kate Greenaway costumes. It seemed homelike and commonplace, and really comforting after all the mists and towers and rivers and seas they had seen, and they asked eagerly, “What is this place?” “This,” answered their guide, “is Mother Goose’s own country, and you are at your journey’s end.” [Illustration] IV _Mother Goose’s Cottage_ [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER IV _Mother Goose’s Cottage_ The owl dropped to the earth like a piece of lead, and the three children, clambering off, found themselves in a little forest glade in front of a cottage,—a cottage that was small and quaint and pretty, with old-fashioned latticed windows, and a trim gay garden in front. Bizzybuzz went to the door, and rapped upon it with his queer wee hand, crying, “Open, Mother, open! I have brought you the three mortal children whom you sent me to get!” “You have been a long time on your journey,” said a voice within. “Enter, all!” and the door opened.