When the last light in the house clicked off, a small train came chuffing softly down the hallway. It was no taller than a chair, painted deep blue with silver stars, and its whistle was so gentle it sounded like a yawn. "All aboard the Night Train," called the sleepy conductor, "all aboard for Dreamland!"
From under beds and behind curtains came the drowsy passengers — a yawning rabbit, a blinking little bear, a kitten rubbing its eyes. One by one they climbed into the warm, glowing carriages and curled up on cushions as soft as marshmallows. The little lamps along the ceiling glowed the warm gold of a candle, and the whole carriage smelled of cocoa and clean sheets.
The Night Train rolled out the window and into the dark countryside, rocking gently from side to side. Clackety-clack, clackety-clack, slow and steady as a heartbeat. Outside, the fields lay silver under the moon, and the sleepy hills breathed slow.
The conductor walked the aisle with a lantern, pulling soft blankets up to drowsy chins. "Rest your eyes," he murmured to each passenger. "Dreamland is not far now. The track only goes where the quiet goes."
The train slipped into a long tunnel, but it was not dark inside. The walls were scattered with tiny stars that glowed and turned, like a sky tucked underground. The rabbit's eyes fluttered shut. The little bear gave one last yawn. The kitten was already purring in its sleep.
Clackety-clack, softer now. Clackety… clack… slower still. The gentle rocking, the warm blankets, the turning stars — it was impossible to stay awake, and no one wanted to.
As the train rocked on, the conductor began to sing — the slowest, softest song the little passengers had ever heard. It had no hurry in it at all. It was a song about warm milk and folded blankets, about owls saying goodnight and the last light going dim. The rabbit's ears went limp. The bear's paws uncurled. Even the wheels seemed to sing along, low and round and sleepy. By the time the song reached its gentle end, there was not a single passenger left awake to hear the very last note.
At last the Night Train glided to a stop at a soft and glowing station, where the platform was made of clouds and the air was warm and kind. But every passenger was already fast asleep, smiling, deep in the loveliest of dreams.
So the kind conductor dimmed his lantern and let them rest right where they were. The Night Train waited quietly through the night, and when morning came, it carried them all safely home — back to their warm beds, just before they opened their eyes.