“I can’t see much,” he said, “the water is dazzling.”
“Ah, those are the sun’s messengers,” said the boy; “the sun sends messengers millions and millions of miles to the lake and they telegraph back to him. But you must look in another place.”
The man slipped into the humour of the child.
“Now I see your kingdom,” he said; “it has greenish forests waving, strange transparent creatures move silently about.”
“No, that’s not my kingdom,” the child answered, “why, I can get in there; but it is not like what you think. Those are slippery fishes and the bottom is all slimy. You must fix your eyes tight and not let them slip to see my kingdom.”
“Now I see it,” said the other; “it has beautiful blue sky, trees stretch twigs into it which glisten like gold—one spreads leaves like jewelled glass with the sun shining through; one stretches budding twigs made of ruby; it is far, far below the shine and the fishes; and yet when I look it is quite close to us.”
“Yes, that’s my kingdom!” cried the child.
“But isn’t it just like that behind us?” said the man, to test him.
The boy looked round. “No, that’s out-of-doors,” he said. “My kingdom is much more happy and safe, and the sky is more shining and the leaves glitter.”
“But it’s the sun’s kingdom down there even where the shine is,” said the man.