* * * * * Needless to say that Cyrus Alton was not neglected during his convalescence. And Dr. Gladwin's prophecy was correct. Cyrus not only recovered but his recovery, after once regaining consciousness, was surprisingly rapid. So rapid that the "little nurse with the sad face" threw aside her sadness, as if waking from a dream, and became the happiest and most inspiriting person in her vicinity. On a certain afternoon, when the convalescent was first allowed to talk as much as he wished, he told his story. And no better audience could be desired than the one then seated on the bed beside him, and quite near the speaker--perhaps to save him the effort of raising his voice. The day was warm, the windows open. Faintly through the closed blinds came the murmur of the city, from beyond the spacious grounds of the hospital. The story was simply told. He started at night for the red planet. He got there and he landed. The air seemed much like ours. But he found himself in a world quite different from his own. All was architecture; temples, towers and enormous viaducts fading away into the horizon, as far as the eye could see. And everything was tall and slender. The trees were very high with branches pointing upward like poplars, and always formally laid out in avenues, or in geometric patterns. And the color! It was like looking at an endless city through orange glasses. The few people he saw had larger heads than ours, more like children, but like children with very short legs. They were surprisingly light on their feet. He was surprised at their high jumps until he remembered that a man who weighs two hundred pounds on the earth weighs but seventy-five pounds on Mars. He really saw but little, however, for although he had tested the atmosphere he found, after looking about him a moment, that the air, while pleasant enough to breath, was affecting his nerves and brain, almost like laughing gas. Then, as he stood there, and began to realize his danger, the wonderful thing happened! Like a soft whisper it came to his ears; gently but clearly, the words that made him forget the things about him,--and all else, for that matter. He thought, at first, the lighter air was affecting his nerves and exciting his imagination; that his own brain was fooling him. For he knew, or thought he knew, that such a thing was impossible. But as he stood there, wondering, hoping, trying hard to believe it might be possible, the message came again, in the same words. Then he knew it was no delusion. He knew it was no invention of his own, nor the cry from his own heart of its one desire. "And, oh, Ruthy, it was the best news that ever came to that planet!" After various remarks of a not impersonal nature from his audience, he continued: