Mowgli was breathing out of time. He was twitching, and making funny little smothered noises, which, if he were awake, would probably be yelps. Something exciting was going on in dreamland.
Tick-tock! Tick——
Hullo! There goes a woodchuck!
II.
The Boy gave chase across the fields, only to arrive, out of breath, at the entrance to a burrow down which the woodchuck had tumbled. [p 141] />]He had not a notion where he was. He seemed to have raced out of the world that he knew into one which was quite unfamiliar. It was a broad valley inclosed by high hills, through which a pleasant little river ran; and the landscape wore an odd aspect—the hills were bluer than hills usually are, the trees were more fantastically fashioned, and the waving grass and flowers were more beautiful than one commonly sees.
“Good morning, young sir!”
On the other side of the stream stood a tall man wrapped in a cloak and leaning with both hands upon a staff. He was well past the middle years, as wrinkles and a beard turned gray gave evidence; but his eyes were youthful and his cheeks as ruddy as a farm lad’s. His clothing was worn and dust-laden, but of good quality and unpatched, and there was an air about him that said plainly, “Here is no common person, I can tell you.”
“You are wondering who I may be,” he observed. “Well, then, I am known as the Knight of the Dusty Thoroughfare.”
“A queer sort of knight, this!” thought the Boy.
“And you—may I ask whither you are bound?” said the stranger. “We may be traveling the same road.”