They passed a garden with little spotted trees and flowers, a brown desert of shifting sands and a striped tent; they walked by strawberry fields and airplane hangars and coal mines; tiny yellow cottages, cramped apartments, fluted houses and Tudor houses and houses without description.... Past rock pools and a great zoo full of animals that stared out of vacant eyes; and everywhere, the seasons changing gently: crisp autumn, cottony summer, windy spring and winters cool and white.... The six men in uniforms followed the little man with the thin hair. They did not speak as they walked, but looked around, stared, craned, wondered.... And the old, young, middle-aged, white, brown, yellow people who did not move wondered back at the men with their eyes.... "You see, Captain, the success of Mr. Waldmeyer's plan?" Captain Webber rubbed his cheek. "I don't understand," he said. "But you do see, all of you, the perfection here, the quality of Eternal Happiness which the circular speaks of?" "Yes ... we see that." "Here we have happiness and brotherhood, here there have never been wars or hatreds or prejudices. And now you who were many and left Earth to escape war and hatred, who were many by your own word and are now only six, you want to begin life _here_?" Cross-breezes ruffled the men's hair. "To _begin_, when from the moment of your departure you had wars of your own, and killed, and hurled mocking prejudice against a race of people not like you, a race who rejected and cast you out into space again! From your own account! No gentlemen, I am truly sorry. It may be that I misjudged those of you who are left, or rather, that Happy Glades misjudged you. You may mean well, after all--and, of course, the location of this asteroid was so planned by the Board as to be uncharted forever. But--oh, I am sorry." Mr. Greypoole sighed. "What does he mean by that?" asked Mr. Friden and Lieutenant Peterson. Captain Webber was gazing at a herd of cows in the distance. "What do you mean, you're 'sorry'?" demanded Mr. Friden. "Well...." "Captain Webber!" cried Mr. Chitterwick, blinking. "Yes, yes?" "I feel queer." Mr. Goeblin clutched at his stomach. "So do I!" "And me!" Captain Webber looked back at the fields, then at Mr. Greypoole. His mouth twitched in sudden pain. "We feel awful, Captain!" "I'm sorry, gentlemen. Follow me to your ship, quickly." Mr. Greypoole motioned curiously with his hands and began to step briskly. * * * * * They circled a small pond where a motionless boy strained toe-high on an extended board. And the day once again turned to night as they hurried past a shadowed cathedral. When they were in sight of the scorched trees, Mr. Milton doubled up and screamed. "Captain!" Mr. Goeblin struck his forehead. "I told you, I told you we shouldn't have drunk that wine! Didn't I tell you?" "It was the wine--and we all drank it. _He_ did it, _he_ poisoned us!"