The last step was reached. Outside the sky was dark, but at the doorway Phaeton stopped, for the light from his father was more than he could bear. There sat Apollo, dressed in crimson, on a throne which glittered with diamonds. On his right hand and on his left stood the Days, bright with hope; and the Months, hand in hand with the Days, seemed listening to what the Years were whispering to them. Phaeton saw there the four seasons. Spring, young and lovely, came first, her head crowned with flowers. Next came Summer, with her robe of roses thrown loosely about her and a garland of ripe wheat upon her head. Then came merry Autumn, his feet stained with grape juice; and last, icy Winter, with frosty beard and hair, and Phaeton shivered as he looked at him. Dazzled by the light, and startled to find himself in such a presence, he stood still. The Sun, seeing him with the eye that sees everything, asked: "Why are you here?" "Apollo, my father, grant me one request, that I may prove to mortals that you are my father." Apollo laid aside his dazzling crown of rays, clasped Phaeton in his arms and said: "Brave son, ask what you will, the gift is yours." Quicker than a flash from his father's crown came the question from Phaeton: "Will you let me for one day drive your chariot?" Foolish father, foolish son! Apollo shook his head three times in warning. "I have spoken rashly. This one thing no mortal can achieve. Nor can any immortal save myself hold in the horses that draw the fiery car of day. It is not honor, but death you ask. Change your wish." Phaeton answered: "My mother taught me that my father always kept his promises." "It is even so, rash boy. If you do not change, neither can I. Bring the chariot of the Sun." The daring child stood beside the glorious car that was higher than his head. His eyes flashed bright as the diamonds that studded the back of the golden chariot. The golden axle gleamed through the silver spokes, for the chariot was made of naught but gold and silver and precious stones. Then Early Dawn threw open the purple doors of the eastern sky. The stars, answering the signal of the Day Star, slowly passed from sight, followed by their marshal. The Hours obeyed Apollo's orders, and, harnessing the horses, led out the wondrous creatures and fastened them to the chariot. Apollo bathed Phaeton's face with ointment, and taking up the crown of shining rays, fastened it on the rash boy's head. With a sigh, he said: "My son, you will at least take my advice in one thing: spare the whip and hold tight the lines. You will see the marks of the wheels where I have gone before, and they will guide. Go not too high or you will burn the heavens, nor too low or you will set your mother's home, the earth, on fire. The middle course is best. Take the reins, or, if even now you will change your wish, abide here, and yield the car to me."