“Oh, for that matter,” said a third, “this Vukub-Kakix was at hand with his impudence when the Old Ones covered with Green Feathers first came out of the waters and tried to make men virtuous. He was then a splendid rogue. I found him annoying, of course, but wonderfully amusing. Now the times worsen: and the adversary of all the gods of men no longer has such opponents as used to keep him on his mettle.” “Each one of you,” marvelled Florian, “gives the Master a new and harder christening! And what, monsieur,” asked Florian, of the last speaker, “may be your name?” The third dim creature answered, “Xpiyacoc.” “Ah, now I understand why you should be the most generous to the Master in the matter of cacophony! I take it that you also have retired from a high position in the church. And I am wondering if all you veteran gods are assembled upon half-pay”—here Florian discreetly jerked a thumb skyward,—“to conspire?” “No,” said a fourth,—who, like that poor Philippe, had only one eye,—“it is true we look to see put down the gods who just now have men’s worship. But we do not conspire. We are too feeble now, and the years have taken away from us even anger and malevolence. It was not so in the merry days when the little children came to me upon spear points. Now the times worsen: and they can but make the best of very poor times up yonder, as we do here.” He seemed to listen to the thing in the appearance of a raven perched on his shoulder, and then said: “Besides, wise Huginn tells me that the reign of any god is an ephemeral matter hardly worth fretting over. I fell. They will fall. But neither fact is very important, says wise Huginn.” And about the Master these dim watchers preferred not to talk any more. He had denied them, they said, when they were kings of heaven and of man’s worship and terror: and the Master had always maintained his cult against whatever god was for the moment supreme. He had never been formidable, he had never shown any desire toward usurping important powers. He had remained content to assert himself Prince of this World, whoever held the heavens and large stars: and while he had never meddled with the doings of any god in other planets, here upon earth he had displayed such pertinacity that in the end most rulers of the universe let him alone. And now their omnipotence had passed, but the Master’s little power—somehow—endured. The old gods found it inexplicable; but they were under no bonds to explain it; and it was not worth bothering about: nor was anything else worth bothering about, said they, whom time had freed of grave responsibilities.