In the morning sunshine a precipice shone forth beyond the gulf. A precipice--or was it a castle? The horses moved. They set their feet upon the rainbow. "Oh, look!" the boy shouted. "Oh, listen! Those caves--or are they gateways? Oh, look between those cliffs at those ledges. I see people! I see trees!" "Look also below," whispered Sir Thomas. "Neglect not the diviner Acheron." The boy looked below, past the flames of the rainbow that licked against their wheels. The gulf also had cleared, and in its depths there flowed an everlasting river. One sunbeam entered and struck a green pool, and as they passed over he saw three maidens rise to the surface of the pool, singing, and playing with something that glistened like a ring. "You down in the water----" he called. They answered, "You up on the bridge----" There was a burst of music. "You up on the bridge, good luck to you. Truth in the depth, truth on the height." "You down in the water, what are you doing?" Sir Thomas Browne replied: "They sport in the mancipiary possession of their gold"; and the omnibus arrived. III The boy was in disgrace. He sat locked up in the nursery of Agathox Lodge, learning poetry for a punishment. His father had said, "My boy! I can pardon anything but untruthfulness," and had caned him, saying at each stroke, "There is _no_ omnibus, _no_ driver, _no_ bridge, _no_ mountain; you are a _truant_, _guttersnipe_, a _liar_." His father could be very stern at times. His mother had begged him to say he was sorry. But he could not say that. It was the greatest day of his life, in spite of the caning, and the poetry at the end of it. He had returned punctually at sunset--driven not by Sir Thomas Browne, but by a maiden lady who was full of quiet fun. They had talked of omnibuses and also of barouche landaus. How far away her gentle voice seemed now! Yet it was scarcely three hours since he had left her up the alley. His mother called through the door. "Dear, you are to come down and to bring your poetry with you." He came down, and found that Mr. Bons was in the smoking-room with his father. It had been a dinner party. "Here is the great traveller!" said his father grimly. "Here is the young gentleman who drives in an omnibus over rainbows, while young ladies sing to him." Pleased with his wit, he laughed. "After all," said Mr. Bons, smiling, "there is something a little like it in Wagner. It is odd how, in quite illiterate minds, you will find glimmers of Artistic Truth. The case interests me. Let me plead for the culprit. We have all romanced in our time, haven't we?" "Hear how kind Mr. Bons is," said his mother, while his father said, "Very well. Let him say his Poem, and that will do. He is going away to my sister on Tuesday, and she will cure him of this alley-slopering." (Laughter.) "Say your Poem." The boy began. "'Standing aloof in giant ignorance.'"