lked on and on and on.]

'Yes, but,' said that voice that always would come and join in whenever
Philip was talking to himself, 'suppose Lucy _does_ believe it? Then
it'll all go on for her, whatever _you_ believe, and she _won't_ be
back. Besides, you know you've _got_ to believe it, because it's true.'

'Oh, bother!' said Philip; 'I'm tired. I don't want to go on.'

'You shouldn't have deserted Lucy,' said the tiresome voice, 'then you
wouldn't have had to go back to look for her.'

'But I can't find my way. How can I find my way?'

'You know well enough. Fix your eyes on a far-off pillar and walk
straight to it, and when you're nearly there fix your eyes a little
farther. You're bound to come out somewhere.'

'But I'm tired and it's so lonely,' said Philip.

'Lucy's lonely too,' said the voice.

'Drop it!' said Philip. And he got up and began to walk again. Also he
took the advice of that worrying voice and fixed his eyes on a distant
pillar.

'But why should I bother?' he said; 'this is a sort of dream.'

'Even if it _were_ a dream,' said the voice, 'there are adventures in
it. So you may as well be adventurous.'

'Oh, all right,' said Philip, and on he went.

And by walking very carefully and fixing his eyes a long way off, he did
at last come right through the hall of silver pillars, and saw beyond
the faint glow of the pillars the blue light of day. It shone very
brightly through a very little door, and when Philip came to that door
he went through it without hesitation. And there he was in a big field.
It was rather like the illimitable prairie, only there were great
patches of different-coloured flowers. Also there was a path across it,
and he followed the path.

'Because,' he said, 'I'm more likely to meet Lucy. Girls always keep to
paths. They never explore.'

Which just shows how little he knew about girls.

He looked back after a while, to see what the hall of pillars looked
like from outside, but it was already dim in the mists of distance.

But ahead of him he saw a great rough building, rather like Stonehenge.

'I wish I'd come into the other city where the people are, and the
soldiers, and the greyhounds, and the cocoa-nuts,' he told himself.
'There's nobody here at all, not even Lucy.'

The loneliness of the place grew more and more unpleasing to Philip.
But he went on. It seemed more reasonable than to go back.

'I ought to be very hungry,' he said; 'I must have been walking for