The Collected Fiction of William Hope Hodgson: The Dream Of X & Other Fantastic Visions Read Online Free

into its shades.
    Through all that day they walked steadily. They had many a mile to go before they reached their destination— the shanty of a distant relative with whom they hoped to find temporary shelter.
    Twice as they went forward Sus’n had spoken to her husband to stop and listen; but he declared he heard nothing.
    “Kind o’ singin’ et sounded like,” she explained.
    That night they camped within the heart of the wood, and Abra’m made a great fire, partly for warmth, but more to scare away any evil thing which might be lurking amid the shadows.
    They made a frugal supper of the poor things which they had brought with them, though Sus’n declared she had no mind for eating and, indeed, she seemed wofully tired and worn.
    Then, it was just as she was about to lie down for the night, she cried out to Abra’m to hark.
    “Singin’,” she declared. “Milluns o’ childer’s voices.”
    Yet still her husband heard nothing beyond the whispering of the trees one to another, as the night wind shook them.
    For the better part of an hour after that she listened; but heard no further sounds, and so, her weariness returning upon her, she fell asleep; the which Abra’m had done a while since.
    Some time later she woke with a start. She sat up and looked about her, with a feeling that there had been a sound where now all was silent. She noticed that the fire had burned down to a dull mound of glowing red. Then, in the following instant, there came to her once more a sound of children singing—the voices of a nation of little ones. She turned and looked to her left, and became aware that all the wood on that side was full of a gentle light. She rose and went forward a few steps, and as she went the singing grew louder and sweeter. Abruptly, she came to a pause; for there right beneath her was a vast valley. She knew it on the instant. It was the Valley of the Lost Children. Unlike the old man, she noted less of its beauties than the fact that she looked upon the most enormous concourse of Little Ones that can be conceived.
    “My b’y! My b’y!” she murmured to herself, and her gaze ran hungrily over that inconceivable army.
    “Ef on’y I cud get down,” she cried, and in the same instant it seemed to her that the side upon which she stood was less steep. She stepped forward and commenced to clamber down. Presently she walked. She had gotten halfway to the bottom of the valley when a little naked boy ran from out of the shadow of a bush just ahead of her.
    “Possy,” she cried out. “Possy.”
    He turned and raced towards her, laughing gleefully. He leapt into her arms, and so a little while of extraordinary contentment passed.
    Presently, she loosed him and bade him stand back from her.
    “Eh!” she said, “yew’ve not growed one bit!”
    She laid her bundle on the ground and commenced to undo it.
    “Guess they’ll fet ye same’s ever,” she murmured, and held up the little trousers for him to see; but the boy showed no eagerness to take them.
    She put out her hand to him, but he ran from her. Then she ran after him, carrying the little trousers with her. Yet she could not catch him, for he eluded her with an elf-like agility and ease.
    “No, no, no,” he screamed out in a very passion of glee.
    She ceased to chase him and came to a stand, hands upon her hips.
    “Come yew ‘ere, Possy, immediate!” she called in a tone of command. “Come yew ‘ere!”
    But the baby elf was in a strange mood, and disobeyed her in a manner which made her rejoice that she was his mother.
    “Oo tarnt ketch me,” he cried, and at that she dropped the little knickers and went a-chase of him. He raced down the remaining half of the slope into the valley, and she followed, and so came to a country where there are no trousers—where youth is, and age is not.

    IV
    When Abra’m waked in the early morn he was chill and stiff; for during the night he had taken off his jacket and spread it over the form of his