'The rhyme
we used to sing together in the Noight-Nursery when I put my faice
agin' the bars, after climbin' along 'arf a mile of slippery slaites
to git there.'
And Rogers, smiling, found himself saying it, while the pretty Guard
fixed her blue eyes on his face and waited patiently:--
I travel far and wide,
But in my own inside!
Such places
And queer races!
I never go to them, you see,
_Because they always come to me!_
'Take your seat, please,' cried the Guard. 'No luggage, you know!' She
pushed him in sideways, first making him drop his dirty bundle.
With a quick, light step a very thin man hurried up. He had no
luggage, but carried on his shoulder a long stick with a point of gold
at its tip.
'Light the lamps,' said the Guard impatiently, 'and then sit on the
back buffers and hold your pole out to warn the shooting stars.'
He hopped in, though not before Rogers had passed the time of night
with him first:--
I stand behind the sky, and light the stars,--
Except on cloudy nights;
And then my head
Remains in bed,
And takes along the ceiling--easier flights!
Others followed quickly then, too quickly for complete recognition.
Besides, the Guard was getting more and more impatient.
'You've clean forgotten _me_,' said one who had an awful air of
darkness about him; 'and no wonder, because you never saw me properly.
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