He wished it would leave off.
How many times had it ticked since he came to lie down?
A thousand times, a million times, perhaps.
He tried to count again, and sat up to listen better.
"Dying, dying, dying!" said the watch; "dying, dying, dying!" He heard it distinctly.

Where were they going to, all those people?
He lay down quickly, and pulled the cover up over his head: but presently the silky curls reappeared.
"Dying, dying, dying!" said the watch; "dying, dying, dying!" He thought of the words his father had read that evening--"For wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction and many there be which go in thereat." "Many, many, many!" said the watch.
"Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it." "Few, few, few!" said the watch.
The boy lay with his eyes wide open.

He saw before him a long stream of people, a great dark multitude, that moved in one direction; then they came to the dark edge of the world and went over.

He saw them passing on before him, and there was nothing that could stop them.

He thought of how that stream had rolled on through all the long ages of the past--how the old Greeks and Romans had gone over; the countless millions of China and India, they were going over now.