Other formats

    TEI XML file   ePub eBook file  

Connect

    mail icontwitter iconBlogspot iconrss icon

The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 13, Issue 12 (March 1, 1939.)

Part I. — The Silver Moth

Part I.
The Silver Moth.

The Glass-blower's Palace.

The Glass-blower's Palace.

Peter lay in his little bed watching the moon shine through his window: such a big friendly face it had; and somehow it made him feel less alone. It was dark in the room save for a shaft of moonbeams casting a silver patch across the floor.

Fairy moonbeams, thought Peter, but no fairies; and he gave a little sigh. If only he could go to sleep: but sleep did not come easily to Peter at night; for often he slept part of the day away.

Two years ago there had been an accident when daddy's car had been struck by a 'bus, and Peter had been thrown through the window. Since then, an injured spine had forced him to lie on his back, day and night, and keep very still.

The big, friendly doctor who came from the city had promised to do something to Peter's back when he was a little stronger: and maybe he would some day walk again.

Sometimes his back gave him great pain, but he was a brave little chap and he seldom cried.

He must go to sleep, he thought, and he shut his eyes tight; but they would not stay shut, and presently he found himself looking up at the moon again.

A large white moth flew against the window, and Peter watched it crawl up the pane, fluttering its wings as it went. Up, up, and presently it flew right through the top of the open window. Peter lost sight of it in the dark room, then he saw something with little silver wings—something that looked very like a moth, but much more like a little metal aeroplane, gliding down one of the moonbeams. Presently, it landed with a gentle bump, right in the middle of the square of moonlight on the bedroom floor. Then he knew it was an aeroplane, and no mistake, for no moth ever glistened so brightly.

Peter's eyes grew round with surprise, for a queer thing began to take place: the little plane grew larger and larger until it was nearly as big as Peter himself. Then it stopped growing, and out of the cockpit stepped the queerest wee man imaginable. He was dressed in a tight-fitting suit of white fur that made him look like a fat polar bear, and on his head was a round fur cap with big pink ears that stuck up each side of his queer, round face. He had a little short body, and very long arms that hung down almost to his toes—like a monkey's—and he kept swinging them gently backwards and forwards. His face looked very old and wrinkled, but ever so kind; and he had the jolliest pair of twinkling, brown eyes.

“Good evening Peter,” he said, and his voice was small and squeaky.

Peter was so astonished he could hardly speak; but he managed to say, “Good evening sir,” for he was a very polite little boy.

“Bingo's my name,” said his visitor. “Bingo of the Silver Moth,” and he waved a hand towards the plane.

“Would you care to make a flight? Any place you like to name, but for goodness sake make haste. Soon the cocks will start to crow, and by the dawn I must be back in my home behind the moon.”

The little man had spoken so quickly that he seemed quite out of breath, and his voice ended on a high, cracked note.

“Oh! behind the moon,” gasped Peter. “Did you come all that way, in that little 'plane?”

“Little indeed,” growled Bingo, “I can make it any size I wish, by merely pressing a button. Come along quickly, or we will be late.”

“But I can't walk,” cried poor Peter, looking with longing eyes at the silver 'plane.

“Of course not,” said Bingo, “but what of that?” and he stepped quickly forward and picked Peter up in his long arms, and before you could wink an eye he found himself inside the 'plane with Bingo by his side.

“Now, where is it to be?” asked his queer companion. Peter thought very hard. The land behind the moon, sounded very exciting: but then Peter remembered that for a long time he had badly wanted to know what lay beyond the line of big mountains that he could see, each day, from his bedroom window.

He had watched them so often, turning pink at sunrise, like the soft icing on his birthday cake, and deep violet when the sun went down.

Peter loved them best in the winter, for then they were covered right down to their base in white glistening snow, and Peter thought they looked like a lot of giant ice creams standing in a row.

How he longed to climb up to the top and look over the other side. Once he had heard a grown-up say that “happiness lay on the other side of the mountain”; and he had always wanted to find out for himself. So he said to Bingo: “Please take me to the Land Beyond the Mountains.”

“All right,” was the answer.

“It's a queer place — almost as unexpected as the Land Just Round the the Corner.”

With that he pressed a silver button, and the 'plane began to grow small again; and Peter felt himself getting small, too, until he felt no bigger than a pea.

Then the 'plane started to rise, and Peter knew that they were sailing up the moonbeam again. Presently they flew right out of the window into the night. They seemed to be travelling at a terrific pace. Looking down, Peter saw twinkling lights where the city lay—then the lights were left far behind, and he could see dark patches that looked like paddocks and a long silver line that he thought must be the river catching the moonlight.

How thrilled he felt! Up above, the stars twinkled like millions of silver balls, the image of those on last year's Christmas Tree. They seemed so close that Peter felt that he would only have to reach out his hand to touch them.

He felt so excited that he quite forgot he was wearing only his pyjamas, and he did not realize that although he was so high up in the sky he did not feel cold. But then, of course, it was a magic 'plane. One does not feel cold, page 50 page 51 or pain, or anything unpleasant when one is in a magic 'plane.

Presently there loomed out of the darkness, queer white shapes, and Peter saw that they were very close to the mountains, and he could see the snow glistening in the moonlight.

Very soon now and we will be over the top, and I shall know what is on the other side, he thought. His heart beat very fast. But instead of flying over the mountains, the 'plane seemed to be flying right into them. Then soon it landed softly—right in the snow on the side of the tallest peak.

Peter had heard of engine trouble with aeroplanes, and he felt just a little afraid. He did not want to be frozen in the snow, and he thought it might be a long time before anyone found him, so far from home, so he asked in a very small voice, “Could anything be wrong, Bingo?”

“Not at all, not at all,” cried Bingo in his squeaky voice.

“We descend here, that's all.”

Descend, thought Peter—that means go down.

“But, Bingo, I thought we were going to fly over the mountains?”

“Who said so?” replied Bingo, his voice more squeaky than ever.

“Look out for the drop!” and the 'plane began to sink down through the snow so quickly that it made Peter feel a little giddy, and he shut his eyes.

Presently he felt a slight bump, and he opened them again to find himself in a very strange place.