John fell on a soft bush, and thence bounded to the ground, where for a time he lay quite still and tried to recover his thoughts.
He had not done much thinking, it seems, while he was in the air. The rush of wind past his ears had dazed him, and he only realized he must cling fast to the stick and await what might happen. Indeed, that was the only thing to be done in such an emergency.
The shock of the fall had for a moment dazed the gingerbread man; and as he lay upon the ground he heard a voice cry:
"Get off from me! Will you? Get off, I say."
John rolled over and sat up, and then another person—a little man with a large head—also sat up and faced him.
"What do you mean by it?" asked the little man, glaring upon John Dough angrily. "Can't you see where you're falling?"
"No," answered John.
It was growing lighter every minute, and the gray mists of morning were fading away before the rising sun. John looked around him and saw he was upon a broad, sandy beach which the waves of a great sea lapped peacefully. Behind was a green meadow, and then mountains that rose high into the air.