For he really thought this want was beyond her power to supply. All the
water which supplied Hopeless Tower was pumped up with difficulty from
a deep artesian well--there were such things known in Nomansland--which
had been made at the foot of it. But around, for miles upon miles, the
desolate plain was perfectly dry. And above it, high in the air, how
could he expect to find a well, or to get even a drop of water?

He forgot one thing--the rain. While he spoke, it came on in another
wild burst, as if the clouds had poured themselves out in a passion
of crying, wetting him certainly, but leaving behind, in a large glass
vessel which he had never noticed before, enough water to quench the
thirst of two or three boys at least. And it was so fresh, so pure--as
water from the clouds always is when it does not catch the soot from
city chimneys and other defilements--that he drank it, every drop, with
the greatest delight and content.

Also, as soon as it was empty the rain filled it again, so that he was
able to wash his face and hands and refresh himself exceedingly. Then
the sun came out and dried him in no time. After that he curled himself
up under the bear-skin rug, and though he determined to be the most
wide-awake boy imaginable, being so exceedingly snug and warm and
comfortable, Prince Dolor condescended to shut his eyes just for one
minute. The next minute he was sound asleep.

When he awoke, he found himself floating over a country quite unlike
anything he had ever seen before.

Yet it was nothing but what most of you children see every day and never
notice it--a pretty country landscape, like England, Scotland,
France, or any other land you choose to name. It had no particular