The Kids were gathered in the courtyard at the foot of the Tower, their eyes scanning the green sky for the first glimpse of the Uncles' spaceship. Up in the Tower at the radar console, I picked up a blip at about three hundred kilomiles. I interrogated, and the target trace blinked in the proper code sequence. I turned on the kiddiecom system and announced that we had just received a message from the Cold Side of Number One Sun. The sound of cheering drifted up from the courtyard. "The Uncles will be here in ten minutes," I said. "Mommy, will you lead us in a rehearsal of the 'Welcome Song,' please?" I stood by the window, listening to the vast sound of a hundred and thirty-seven voices, each trying to outdo the other in amplitude and sincerity. "_Welcome to Fairyland, Welcome to Fairyland, Welcome dear Uncles To Fairyland, today!_" It was discordant, it was childish--it was even ludicrous--but I loved it. I loved it without quite understanding it, and it made me feel happy yet sad at the same time.... I took the elevator down to the loading platform and drove the monorail car out to the spaceport, which was ten miles from Fairyland--across the arid, lifeless desert. We'd built the dock close enough for easy access yet far enough away so that the awesome sight of a spaceship landing or blasting off wouldn't generate too much curiosity in the Kids. It was a link with the Outside World, a world that had no reality for them and for that reason could not stand too close an inspection. The Earth ship was snuggling comfortably into the dock as I climbed out of the car. I ran across the landing platform and pressed the control switch that lowered the gangway against the ship's hatch. Boswell, the Council Chairman, was first down the gangway. He was short, fat without being flabby, and completely bald except for a fringe of white fuzz around the back of his head and over his ears. He had an oversized nose, and bright blue eyes that twinkled perpetually. The Kids called him Uncle Chub. "Well well well, Harry. You look fine. Fine. Good to see you. How's it going?" "Fine, sir. Just fine." His three colleagues followed close on his heels. I shook hands with each of them. Two of them I'd known as long as I had Boswell, ever since I'd become the Third Daddy of Fairyland. There was old Eaker, lean and tall and solemn, with never much to say. The Kids called him Uncle Thin. ("Good to see you, Harry. How are you doing?") Then there was Hopkins, about my age and therefore younger than either Boswell or Eaker. A nice, medium guy, Hopkins--medium build, medium gray hair, medium voice, affable without being garrulous, intelligent without being stuffy. The Kids called him Uncle Hoppy. ("Hi, Dad. How's the gang?")