Ahead is a bridge, shaped like a flight of stairs (rests for the horses). Around the farther tower arches—strong supports of the suspended ends—a mist is twining and winding, glistening peculiarly. Show Off seeing my intent gaze looks there, and hastily takes from his father’s pocket a glass and absorbedly scans the mist. I had forgotten the Traveler’s approach, of shock to Robet, who leans back her head gasping faintly. But directly over us is the shocking man, on a high seat, over high runners, between which glides our humble sleigh. At Show Off’s shout, he looks down, his stern face relaxing genially, recovering Robet. Thus disturbed, Show Off drops the glass, which I pick up, wonderingly. One look, and I am curious too. For deep within the luminous vapor are human beings, lace seated and draped. They are singing, their countenances reflecting the inspiring symphony. Studying closely, I detect a peculiarity of expression, as if masculine and feminine are combined, both strong and tender. Coming swiftly, and bending low, they must brush us as they pass. A child in front of adult, eyes exhilarantly my exotic bouquet. I select a dainty bud, and raise it over my head. The gust shuts my eyes. But I feel a tiny touch that wisps away my bud. From our slow journeying, we are too late to make our address at Roban’s, before the election, which occurs to-day. So proceed to that function. Seated comfortably upon the Central Plaza, a nice esplanade covered with rugs, we are scarcely seated when two ladies and a gent approach us, who by their family resemblance are no doubt sisters of Robet. One hugs her tremblingly. The other is hugged vigorously by Savant, his wife Roba. She is, though of exact likeness, still of different temperament from the others. More sedate, quite stately, though none the less lovable. When Savant puts my father with his silver hair and shining black eyes on her lap, she is quite awe struck. When my father reaches up and kisses her reverently on the cheek; she is more nonplussed still, and takes her muff to sit him on. The gent is no doubt the husband of the other sister, who snaps his fingers at Charley, when he wishes he did not, for the latter bites it viciously; then rubbing the bite over, he lays his cheek on it, in penitence. He is forgiven, but not taken up on his lap, but I am instead, and smile profusely to keep the peace. Saucy is on Roban’s shoulder, and chatting like a parrot into her ear, which just suits this lady, she answering as glibly. “O, how late you are! We could not wait for you, but left the castle open and came on. Has the Traveler come?” That individual passes without seeing us. Before we hail him, we hear music of a band approach. The melody is whistling as will Boreas shortly whistle over the land. Conducting two lines in grand march, in election mode, headed by the chosen Mayor and Mayoress, respectively, or as they call them, god and goddess.