The bald hill was beneath him as he came slowly down, down, down.

He could see the Cloud Horse--now little more than a small white
speck--rushing on to catch the sunset. And still he sank down ever so
slowly towards the top of the bald hill.

His little dog had caught sight of him now, and came rushing out the
gate and up the bald hill, barking loudly. And he kept on sinking
nearer to the earth, down, down, nearer and nearer--and then, quite
suddenly, he seemed to forget everything.

The next thing Neville remembered was feeling something wet and warm
upon his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw that the little dog was
licking his face. Sitting up, he looked about him. He was in the grass
on the top of the bald hill; night was very near, and the first star
was just beginning to twinkle.

Then, quite suddenly, Neville remembered the Cloud horse and the
little yellow man and the little silver man and the head scene-shifter
and the wonderful journey and all the rest of it.

"Well, what a remarkable dream," said Neville, stretching his arms.
And, as he did so, the Sky Flower fell from his hand.

So it was not a dream after all; for, if it was, how could he explain
that Sky Flower? He picked it up and carried it very tenderly, as he
set off home to dinner, his little dog trotting at his heels.

"What a beautiful flower!" said Neville's mother when he got home.
"Where ever did you get it?"