"There, my child; it lies right there under your very nose."
"Where?" George looked down, and then remembered. "That's what the mother said in the dragon's story, isn't it?... Oh, dear, everything is so puzzling! Where is Sir Tristram? Shan't I ever see him again?"
"Time for bed now!" Alexander yawned and stretched himself, and not another word would he say.
It was nice to be in bed in this cosy little room. There were such jolly patterns on the wall-paper, and they seemed to be changing all the time. Sometimes there were trees and rivers, sometimes birds and animals, sometimes ships and whales. Perhaps it was a dream wall-paper. Would there be another adventure to-morrow? It would be fun to go back to the Castle of the Thousand Towers and visit the King. Just fancy if he invited George to stay with him! Did the Princess get back quite safely?
What was happening?
The room seemed to be full of a soft rosy light. The walls seemed to be growing and spreading in all directions. The bed—why, it wasn't a bed at all! It was a beautiful couch of soft moss, and the room had disappeared altogether.
George was lying in the forest, in the middle of a glade surrounded by trees of all shapes and sizes. Music was everywhere—above him, around him, ebbing and flowing like the tide of the sea. Little voices were whispering, laughing, singing; what were they saying? Could it be: "George is home at last!"
Why, this wasn't home! It was ... what was it?