"Now am I dreaming or not?" said George.
Alexander still smiled and wagged his tail, but he said never a word this time.
"Come on!" cried George, and he ran down the path as hard as ever he could.
He ran and ran until suddenly he found himself right out of the wood and in the midst of a most beautiful meadow. A little stream of clear blue water flowed gently along past banks carpeted with flowers. There must have been hundreds of them, and every one a different colour.
The sun was shining as he had never seen it shine before, and yet he did not feel a bit too hot.
He looked around him, but there was no one to be seen. The only sound was the soft gurgle, gurgle of the stream flowing over the stones. He lay down by the side of it, and hollowing his hands to make a cup, dipped them in the water; then, raising them to his mouth, took a deep, delicious drink.
George drank again and yet again; then, lying face downward, gazed into the stream. It was full of little fishes; golden, silver—there were so many that he could not even count them, and each was more beautiful than the other.
"This is jolly!" he thought. "It's just like a piece out of a story, only better."