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.