loudland.

It was a fine afternoon, about three o'clock, a lazy, sleepy time of
day. A queer jumble of all the fairy stories that the boy knew, passed
through his head as he sat on the lawn, day-dreaming, while his kite
flapped its wings on the ground beside him.

Now you must know that it happened to be Midsummer Eve, the summer fete
day of the fairies. Walter stared at the mountains whose great purple
heads he could see in the far distance across the green plain. How they
changed from moment to moment, as the clouds cast their shadows on them,
till the sun shone out bright again and chased away the shadows. As
Walter looked intently at his favourite peak, a mountain called the Old
King, he saw a shining cloud on the summit against the sky, that he had
never noticed there before. As he gazed and gazed, the cloud seemed to
form itself into a wonderful castle. Each turret and tower was of an
exquisite hue like the clouds at sunset. Grey mists wreathed round it,
and made a soft, mysterious background: the castle became more vivid and
shone like gold.

How should Walter reach this fairy palace? For reach it he felt that he
must! His kite had an answer ready. It jumped up from the ground, and
looked at him with a queerly human expression, and seemed to say: "Sail
me!"

Walter gave but one touch to unwind the string, and up, up it mounted
like the Parzival airship, bearing the little boy with it, who held
tight to the end of the cord. He felt rather giddy and frightened at
first, but soon found out that by holding the cord in his hands to give
him confidence, and making movements in the air, similar to those of
swimming, he could fly quite easily.

Most of us have experienced this delightful sensation in our dreams, and
I have heard children declare that when they were small, they used to
fly downstairs without even touching the banisters. Perhaps flying may
be a forgotten art: or perhaps we have not yet learned to discover, and
to use our wings.

To Walter it came quite naturally; on, on they flew over the trees, and
over the houses, over the windings of the Nidda. Walter could hear the
tinkle tinkle of sheep bells below, or was it possible that he could
already hear the bells of fairyland ringing? Over the church spire of a
little village they soared, and all the children shouted: "Zeppelin!
Zeppelin!" because you see all this happened in modern times, when even
the children no longer believe in the supernatural.