When Billy again reached the earth it was night. He had just taken Barker out of his pocket and was going to dig a hole for the Singing Tree, when he saw that he was in a great shadowy city.
"That's strange," he said, looking about him. "I was sure that I was in the middle of a green meadow when I first came down and here I am in a city."
And yet when he looked again he found that he could see clear through the houses. This made him just a wee bit nervous.
"Ah! here comes some one with a lantern; I'll ask him about it." And sure enough there came bobbing and dancing up the street a ball of light. "He's an awfully unsteady walker, whoever he is," said Billy. For one minute the light would be way up in the air and the next minute almost touching the ground—then it would be on one side of the walk and again on the other. On it came until it was within a few inches of his nose and then he saw that no one was carrying it.
Gracious! what a start it gave him—for a moment only and then he was off after it in hot pursuit. But the faster Billy walked the faster the light went—when he ran it ran—and suddenly "puff!" it disappeared.
"Huh! I don't like that a little bit," and he stopped and looked around him.
The moon cast a pale and sickly light, and the gaunt trees waved and creaked sadly in the moaning breeze, throwing long, claw-like shadows on the ground. Then a sad-voiced bird piped out from the forest, "Whip-poor-will—whip-poor-will—whip-poor-will-o'-the-wisp."
"That's what it was, of course," said Billy, sturdily sticking his fists into his pockets—"a will-o'-the-wisp." And back he trudged whistling as hard as he could whistle. Because whistling does keep a fellow's courage up on a lonely walk, doesn't it?
It certainly cheered Billy a great deal, so that when he got back to the place he had lately left he was laughing at his fears.
And then the moon went under a cloud.