There sat the Queen in her chair, but she was just a little card again.
Then he remembered the Snowman. He ran out of doors.
There the Snowman stood, as roly-poly as ever, with his twig mouth smiling and his sky-blue eyes wide open. He said nothing, but Goran felt they two understood each other.
What a night it had been! Could it all have been a dream? But now the night was over, and the storm was over; and, best of all, through the dim twilight he saw on the fjord far below him Neighbor Skylstad’s rowboat, and seated in it, wrapped in her red shawl, his own dear grandmother coming home to him.
The Dream Coach stopped at the Princess’s castle, then by road of stars to Goran’s cottage in Norway next to the palace of the little Emperor, lastly to the house in France where Phillipe visited his Grandparents
A Bird Cage With tassels of Purple and Pearls
The Driver of the Dream Coach paused as he turned over the pages of the great white and gold book in which are kept the names of all those who have ridden or are to be given rides in the brightly painted Coach.