The street, the people, everything was hidden, except just close at hand. They were enveloped in a thick, dark, steamy cloud, which covered all, except the noise. Phyllis ran first this way, then that, trying in vain to find the turning. Effie grew frightened, and began to cry, which attracted the notice of a policeman. Phyllis remembered what her father had said to Donald, so she asked, "Please will you show us the way home?"
"Where do you live?" he asked.
"I don't know the name," Phyllis faltered; "it's in a street full of houses, joined on to each other all in a row, and no garden."
"Well, that isn't much help," he replied, kindly; "where might you be going to?"
"We were trying to find London," Phyllis said.
"Trying to find it; this is London."
"Oh, no!" Phyllis cried, eagerly; "I mean the golden streets, and the fountains, and the palaces, and the trains, and the church you can't see the roof of, and the needle twenty men can't lift, and the golden carriages, and——"
The man burst into such a laugh that Phyllis stopped short, and stared at him angrily.
"My big brothers and sisters have gone to look at it. They are doing it now," Phyllis added.