“Which way is north?” asked Gale, as we looked down at the huge compass-like carving.

“All ways,” I said. “We are at the end of South, here. The center of that diagram is the spot we set out to reach. It is the South Pole.”

Gale reflected on this a moment, and then with something of the old spirit said:

“I’d like to know how anybody is ever going to lay out an addition here! Latitudes and longitudes, and directions, and hemispheres, all mixed up, and no difference in east and west fronts, or afternoon sun.” He paused a moment, and seemed reflecting; then he grew even more like the Gale of earlier days. “Say,” he added suddenly, “but wouldn’t this temple make a great hotel, though! Center of everything, and sun in every window once in twenty-four hours. Do you know, if it wasn’t for Ferratoni, I’d try to make some sort of a—a matrimonial alliance with the Princess, and get her interested in developing this country and stirring things up. I’d pitch that jim-crow electric apparatus, that don’t work, into this lake, and I’d put a light on top of this pyramid that would show from here to the snow-line. Then I’d run an elevator up here, and have trolley cars connecting all over, and steam launches going up and down these rivers.” He paused for breath, and then his face saddened. “But what’s the use, Nick?” he said mournfully. “How is anybody going to do business here? Nobody wants any homes and firesides, or trolleys, or steamboats, and if they did, they haven’t got any money to pay for anything with. Think of it! Not a dollar in the whole country! Not a nickel! Not a red penny!”

It was as the flare of the expiring candle. He ceased. The spell of the country once more lay upon him. The ways of progress such as he had known seemed as far off and forgotten as the cold northern pole beneath us.

Mr. Sturritt looked sad, too, and shook his head silently. There seemed no need of his food preparations in a land where people never journeyed afar, and had ample time to consume the ample stores so lavishly provided by nature, and in such uncondensed forms. Like the rest of us, he would forget, and let the world go by.

We loitered back to the edge of the terrace and looked down. Far below, the Princess and her court were just arriving. We watched them alight from their barges and ascend the stairway that led to the first terrace. They were a fair throng, and the sight from above was beautiful in the extreme. In front there came a troop of singing children with garlands of flowers. Just behind these walked the Princess in her robe of state, and by her side, our companion, Ferratoni, her guest of honor. After them followed the people of the court, young men and maids—all laden with great floral bonds, festooned from one couple to the next in a mighty double chain. There was no solemnity. All were chanting gaily. As they reached the top of each stairway, they paused to face the sun and unite in a jubilant chorus. Truly, I thought, theirs is a religion of joy and goodwill.

“I’m sorry, now, we didn’t wait and come up with the crowd,” said Gale. “Still, we get a better view by not being in it. But will you just look at Tony! Talk about catching on! Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a wedding performance and that Tony had the star part.”

They were near enough now for us to see that Ferratoni’s face was lighted with smiles, and that the Princess, too, looked very happy.

“It is hardly that, yet,” I said, “but I think we need not be surprised at anything. Though such an alliance, I suppose, would require some special dispensation or sanction of the sun.”

“Yes,” assented Gale, “and, by the way, Nick, who is that little yellow-haired girl that is setting up to you—the one that sings a good deal and plays on that little bandolin arrangement—and that other one, Bill, that dark-eyed one who walks about with you so much, holding hands, and wondering how old you could live to be, if you really tried?”

I made no immediate reply, and Mr. Sturritt showed languid confusion.

“I—that is——” he began, “she—she is——”

“I think,” I interposed, “she is a cousin to that very delightful little auburn-haired creature, who sits all day at the feet of our Admiral, listening to “How Doth the Little Busy Bee” and “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

“Nick,” said Gale, “if anything should happen that we ever did get out of this snap, and back to—to people—the yacht, and Biff, and Johnnie, I mean—I suppose it would be just as well not to mention some of the things that happen down here. They wouldn’t quite understand the conditions, you see—the—the atmosphere, as the artists say—the poetry of it, you know. You wouldn’t want to say anything, yourself——”

He was interrupted at this point by the arrival on our terrace of the singing children. I had no opportunity to reply, but I did not at once join very heartily in the ceremonies.

The latter were very simple, and consisted of little more than a continuance of the marching and singing, with a pause at short intervals to shout a great pÆan to their divinity. Then there ensued a wonderfully graceful dance, and after this a marvellous floral decoration of the entire temple, within and without. In this the Princess took but a brief initiatory part, and presently, when the upper terrace was finished, most of her followers descended to the work below, leaving with her only her ladies-in-waiting, a few gentlemen of the court, and ourselves.

We reclined among the flowers, and for a time there was a silence, broken only by the distant singing voices of those still busy below. It seemed a sort of benediction after the offering, and then for some reason there came upon me a feeling like that when at the opera the curtain descends and the chorus dies into the distance; the feeling that something is over and completed—that something new and different is about to begin.