Neville had often before amused himself with watching clouds and the strange shapes into which they changed themselves--sometimes like great mountain ranges, sometimes like sea-waves, and very often like elephants and lions and seals and all manner of interesting things of that sort. But never before had he been able to make out so many animal shapes in the clouds. The sky was almost as good as a Zoo.

There were kangaroos and elephants and a hen with chickens and wallabies and rabbits and a funny man with large ears and all sorts of other peculiar shapes.

The sun was sinking behind a distant range of hills, where a golden light shone out as if through a gateway. It was so much like a great golden gateway that Neville fell to wondering what might be found on the other side of it.

Suddenly, right in the middle of all the coloured clouds, he saw one little cloud which was perfectly white, and, as he watched it, he noticed that it seemed to be shaped like a small horse. A very small horse it seemed at that distance; but, as Neville gazed, it grew bigger and bigger, just as if it were coming toward him very fast, and he was almost certain he could see its legs moving.

That startled him a little, and so he rubbed his eyes to make sure that they were not playing him tricks.

When he looked again he was more startled than ever; for the little white cloud was no longer a cloud, but a little white horse in real earnest. Besides, it had just left the sky and was galloping down the mountain range which he could see away in the West.

In two minutes it had left the range, and was coming across the fields towards him, jumping the fences, dodging under the trees, and racing across the plain with its white mane and tail tossing as it came. It seemed to be making straight for him.

He was not really frightened--you must not think that about him--but he was just beginning to wonder if it were not nearly time to go home to dinner, when he noticed that the white horse had stopped, just at the foot of the bald hill. It was looking up at him, tossing its head and pawing the ground--the most beautiful white horse that he had ever seen, even in a circus. Then it appeared to get over its excitement and began to trot quietly up the hill toward him.

I do not think anyone would have blamed Neville if he had decided then to go home to dinner at once. But he was rather a brave boy, and he was certainly very curious, so he just stood still and waited.

And here is where the most wonderful part of the story begins. The white horse trotted up to Neville and spoke to him. That would surprise most people; and Neville was certainly as much surprised as anyone else would have been.

"What are you frightened of?" asked the white horse in a loud voice.

Now, Neville WAS just a little frightened by this time; but he was not going to show it, so he just said, "Who's frightened?"

"YOU'RE frightened," said the white horse, louder than ever. "You're only a timid little boy. I thought when I saw you in the distance that you were one of the plucky ones; but I was mistaken. You're just a little cowardly-custard."

"You'd better be careful who you're talking to," said Neville, suddenly losing his fear. (Little boys do not always talk good grammar; otherwise he would have said "whom" not "who.") He hated to be called a "cowardly-custard." "You'd better be careful, or I'll give you a bang!"

"Ah ha!" cried the white horse. "Very brave all at once, aren't you?

All the same, you're afraid to come near and stroke me."

"But I don't want to stroke you," said Neville.

"I thought not," replied the white horse. "I thought not, the moment I got close to you. You're one of the frightened ones, and I've been wasting my time."

"Who's frightened?" said Neville again.

"You asked that before," replied the white horse, "and I told you. If you're not frightened, come along and stroke me. There's nothing to be afraid of."

So Neville walked right up to the white horse and stroked his shoulder. And at once he felt that he had been foolish to hold back.

For of all the smooth, soft, silky coats he had ever stroked, that of the white horse was certainly the smoothest, and the softest, and the silkiest. He felt that he could go on stroking it for hours.

"There now," said the white horse in a voice as soft and silky as his coat. "There was nothing to be afraid of, was there? And I think that perhaps I was mistaken about you. I rather think you might be one of those daring boys that one reads about in stories. What about jumping on my back for a little ride?"

Neville ceased to stroke the white horse and drew back a little.

"I'm afraid they'll be expecting me home for dinner," he said. "I'm very pleased indeed to have met you." Neville was always a polite little boy.

"The very thing!" cried the white horse. "Jump on my back and I'll take you home. You liked stroking me, didn't you? Well that's nothing to the ride you will enjoy--simply nothing. Why, all the boldest riders in the world would give their ears just for one little ride on my back. Now then! One, two, three, and up you go!"

Then before Neville quite knew what he was doing, he made a little run and leapt up astride of the white horse.

"I live just over there," said Neville, pointing towards his home.

But before he could say "knife", or even "scissors" (supposing he had wished to say either of these words), the white horse laughed a nasty hollow laugh, sprang upwards from the ground, and was soaring through the air toward the dying sunset, right away from home and dinner.

Neville clung on tightly, for he was so high above the earth that to fall off would mean the end of him. And far beneath him he saw the green fields and the white road, which now seemed like a mere thread.

"That's not fair! Whoa back! Whoa back!" he shouted to the white horse; but the white horse made no reply. Indeed, he seemed suddenly not so much like a white horse as like a white cloud shaped like a horse, and Neville saw that he no longer sat upon the horse's silky coat, but upon something soft and downy like a white fleece, and it was slightly damp. Then he knew that he was riding upon a cloud; and, as it was quite absurd to go on talking to a cloud, he ceased to cry out. He just sat tight and wondered what would happen next.

He was high over a farm-house now: one that he used to see from the bald hill. He knew it by the tall pine-trees that grew round it; and down in the farm-yard he saw a man with a bucket going out to feed the calves. Neville called loudly to him, but the man did not even look up. Now he was far beyond that farm-house and above an orchard, where he saw the fruit-trees standing in straight rows; and a few seconds later the mountain range was beneath him, and Neville knew that the cloud that looked like a horse was making straight for the golden gateway, which was now glowing dully in a grey sky. He was riding into the sunset.

Swiftly as the wind that drove it, the Cloud Horse drifted over the mountain range. There was a sudden glow of golden light all about him, and then a flash of colour so wonderful that Neville could not bear to look. He closed his eyes, and, as he did so, he felt that the Cloud Horse had come to a halt at last.

So Neville sat upon the cloud, not daring to open his eyes for quite a long time. When at last he did look again he almost fainted with the wonder of it. He was inside the sunset.

But scarcely had he begun to enjoy the wonderful sight, when he was startled by the sound of a funny, shrill little voice close by his side. Looking down, he saw a strange little man, no taller than a walking-stick, and dressed from top to toe in golden-yellow clothes.

"My stars!" said the wee yellow man. "How did YOU manage to get in here? Don't you know this is private?"

"I'm very sorry," said Neville, "but I couldn't help it. The Cloud Horse brought me, you know."

"Ah!" said the wee yellow man. "He tricked you, did he? He's much too playful, that Cloud Horse; and, I must say, he's put you in a pretty fix."

"Excuse me," said Neville, "but do you mind telling me who you are?"

"I?" cried the little yellow man. "Why, I'm the Last Sunbeam, of course. I thought you knew that. My job, you know, is to shut up the show when the sunset is over. And it's pretty hard work, I can tell you, because I've got to keep on doing it all round the earth every few minutes or so. And it gets very tiresome at times. Would you believe it? I've never seen a dawn or a bright mid-day in all my life--just sunsets all the time. Sunsets for breakfast, sunsets for dinner, sunsets for supper. And if I make the tiniest little slip, the head scene-shifter is down on me like a ton of bricks."

"Goodness me!" said Neville. "I didn't know you had scene-shifters here." Neville had been to see pantomimes, and therefore knew what a scene-shifter was.

"Then how do you think we shift the scenes?" cried the wee yellow man rather crossly. Then he suddenly became very busy about nothing, as he whispered, "Look out! Here's the head scene-shifter coming now."

Looking back, Neville saw, coming towards them, a man with very large ears. He was not a nice-looking man, and he was extremely like the cloud man that Neville had sometimes seen in the sky when he went to look at the sunset from the bald hill.

"Now then! Now then!" roared the man with the large ears. "Move yourself there, Goldie! We shut up the show here in a few minutes, and open at once on the next range. See that you have that curtain down on time."

"Certainly, sir," replied the little yellow man very humbly.

Then the man with the large ears noticed Neville for the first time.

He frowned darkly, and his big ears seemed to flap with annoyance.

"Who is this on our Cloud Horse?" he roared in his great angry voice.

"Just a little boy," said the yellow man--for Neville was far too frightened to speak. "Just a little boy that the Cloud Horse has been playing tricks on. I think he'd like to be getting home--just over by the bald hill, if you don't mind, sir."

"Certainly not!" shouted the man with the large ears. "The Cloud Horse is not to go out there again to-night, nor the silly little boy either. I'm not going to have the sunset upset by any such silly nonsense. You mind what I say and attend to your work."

And, without another glance at Neville, the man with the large ears strode off to arrange for the sunset on the next range, miles and miles away.

Neville gazed at the wee yellow man hopelessly, and the wee yellow man gazed at Neville, and neither spoke a word until the man with the large ears was well out of the way. Then the Last Sunbeam grew quite cheerful again.

"Well," said he, "you heard what the head scene-shifter said. You certainly can't go home by the way you came. The only thing for you to do is to go round. You'll just about have time to do it, if you hurry."