The mechanico disappeared and summoned a large gang of other mechanicos. They laid steel tracks about the garden, and down the walks. ‘This is the life,’ said Raphael, delighted. ‘Come on, Cassie, let’s run the big engine.’ They spent another two hours playing with the big engine the mechanicos had brought them. They rode round and round the garden, throwing the switches, backing for loads of stones they tossed into the dump cars, and blowing the whistle. ‘Let’s never go back to Uniontown,’ said Raphael as he stopped the train by the concrete pond. ‘Let’s stay here and play forever.’ ‘Raff,’ broke in Cassandra, ‘it’s my turn. Let me drive.’ ‘It’s not your turn,’ answered Raphael. ‘Besides, you don’t know how to run an engine. You’d break it.’ ‘Yes I do, too,’ argued Cassandra. ‘You’ve run the train for hours.’ ‘Well, it’s mine, isn’t it? I asked for it.’ ‘You wouldn’t have thought of it if I hadn’t told you what the Sorcerer said.’ And Cassandra made a grab for the driving throttle. ‘Let go, Cassie, or I’ll push you off the train,’ said Raphael, angrily seizing her hand. Cassandra burst into tears. Raphael suddenly realized that they were quarreling the first day they were together, fighting when they could have anything they wanted. He was ashamed. ‘All right, Cassie,’ he said. ‘You can run the old engine.’ Cassandra brightened up. ‘Thank you, Raff,’ she said sweetly. After lunch the Sorcerer took them to a room Cassie had never seen before which held an enormous doll’s house. It was a wonderful house. Each room had its small furnishings. In the bedrooms were bureaus and beds and rugs and electric lights that turned on and off. In the dining-room a miniature mechanico plied a vacuum cleaner, in the kitchen a cook was cooking food on a little electric range, while in the front parlor sat a mechanical man listening to a radio machine from which issued strange infinitesimal squeaks and noises. ‘Just like the radio at home,’ laughed Cassandra joyfully. When they had grown tired of the doll’s house, they returned to the garden and ordered two small racing automobiles. They drove these up and down the asphalt paths, stopping every once in a while to change the tires for the fun of it. Toward the end of the afternoon Raphael suddenly thought, ‘I should like an aeroplane.’ And he clapped his hands. But this time he was denied. ‘The Master said you were not to have an aeroplane,’ explained the mechanico. ‘He was afraid you might try to escape.’ Escape! What nonsense! He was having far too good a time to escape. ‘All right,’ he said petulantly. ‘If I can’t, I suppose that’s all there is to it.’ Raphael had forgotten Gæa and the animals and Aunt Mary. ‘Cassie,’ he called, ‘I’ll race you round the garden.’