The Land of Dreams was quite unlike anywhere the children had visited before. There were no roaring giants, no dark castles, no chases along stone corridors. Instead, everything was quiet, misty, and softly shimmering. The trees looked as if they had been painted onto the air, and the houses seemed to shift a little whenever you looked at them from a new angle. As soon as they crossed the border, Peter and Mollie began to feel strangely drowsy. Peter let out a huge yawn. Mollie's eyes grew heavier every minute. Even the wishing-chair floated rather than flew, as if it too had caught the dreamy mood of the place. The dwellers of the Land of Dreams did not walk so much as drift, ready to slumber wherever they happened to sit down. Mollie wanted to linger in a garden full of silver flowers. Peter was already leaning back with his eyes half-closed. But Chinky knew the danger of the Land of Dreams. Those who lingered too long could forget who they were. He shook them both by the shoulder, wished the chair home as loudly as he could, and steered it firmly back the way they had come. The misty country faded behind them, the familiar playroom appeared beneath the chair — and all three of them woke up properly with a soft bump, as if from a very vivid dream.