The evolutions ended, the two lines join, and the crowd standing, all sing. E’er the sun our father leaves us He, as a parent, leads us To the indoor mother’s side To spend the winter tide. The candidates, now in full view, are recognized by Robet with consternation. “Roban’s son, and his daughter,” are her startling words. We all turn silently toward Roban’s home. The ceremonies now ended. The new city officers, receiving congratulations around, also join our party, staying in our rear. The castle supposed to be open is not so now, but is double barred inside against us, as we arrive. Through the crystal portal, we see in the center court, sitting nonchalantly as revengefully, the man who rode over us. We are out in the cold, and what is worse, quite hungry. Savant calls out, “Hello, neighbor.” He arises and is about to come forward, when his daughter laughs out, “Now papa, good papa,” which stops him, and he turns square his back to us. Beyond and near to him is a revolving plant stand, reaching high above his head. A plant is moving mysteriously. I see my father under a leaf (I had not missed him). He is arranging something under a blossom. I cannot tell what. Now before us and at our feet down drops the nervous Robet, who cannot keep her dignity longer. Around goes the plant stand and sounds out this word, which is from a phonograph (placed by father) in Arc, “Look ye.” Around again, it is above him. “Looky,” now one side, now behind. Mystified, the stolid man looks around as directed, not at our faces, where he will see the mirthful countenance of his daughter, but at our feet where he sees a countenance pale and in tears. The spell is broken, and as father leaps on his shoulder like a good fairy, he lets us in. A castle band now starts up to a tune resembling the snapping of a fire, reminding us of the day of the Inning Fireside. Now crackling forth with renewed zest, the people arrange themselves in cavalcade, and slowly march, with spiral inclination, around the hall, towards its center. Robet, supported by her lover, pulls me out of her bag to amuse him, much to my ill-will. But father winks to me over his head, and pulls his hair. Nearing the center of the room, the Traveler firmly and (I see his daughter grimacing close by) turning from the pleading Robet goes out of the room, and out of the house, disappearing down the street.