A silver bell tinkled! To Mavis, it sounded like the Angelus on a summer morning. She opened her eyes; again the bell sounded. “Where am I?” she cried, and with sudden remembrance. “Baby—where’s Baby?” Desmond woke. “Where’s Baby, Dez?” she asked again piteously, and even as she spoke she heard the sound of a tiny chuckle, and by her side on a bed, the miniature of the one she was on, lay her baby, crooning with delight. The bell tinkled again. Desmond went to the door and opened it slightly. A smiling girl was outside with a table on wheels. “Your mushti,” said she wheeling it toward him. “To eat?” queried Desmond. “Of course. It is pleasant on the ‘vala,’ outside among the flowers—have it there with your friends.” “Thank you. It’s breakfast, Mavis,” said Desmond. “Look out on the balcony and see if Uncle John is there.” Mavis was almost too bewildered to ask any questions, and obeyed. There was a tiny gate dividing their balcony from the next, and she went through. “Uncle John,” she called softly. Sir John, Alan, and Masters appeared at the window of the next room. “You’re awake then?” laughed Alan. “Yes.” “Have you had any food?” asked Desmond. Alan laughed. “A table each—and chock full. Shall we wheel ours along and all have it together?” In a trice the six were sitting down to the first real meal they had had since they had so miraculously escaped from the end of the world. The tables were of different coloured glass, and were laden with food very different from that to which they had been accustomed. There were jugs full of steaming liquid, neither tea, coffee, nor cocoa, but with a reminiscent flavour of all three, and extremely refreshing. There were wines—fruits whole, and fruits compote. There were cereals served almost like porridge, and there was bread too. Bread and tiny, crisp rolls, biscuits sweet and biscuits plain, and pats of golden butter. It was a delightful meal, refreshing, invigorating, and so different from the stodgy, unwholesome tinned meats they had been living on for so long. There was also a tiny tray for the baby—a bowl of fresh new milk and some rusks. A plate of a kind of arrowroot mixture was greatly appreciated by little John Alan, who cried out “More—pese, mum, more.” “The little beggar likes it,” said Sir John. “He appreciates the change too. Well, here we are all on land again at last, and among friends.” “What are you going to do?” asked Mavis. “We’ll throw ourselves on the mercy of the Jovians of course; make up our minds to settle down in a new world, and live the remainder of our lives in peace and contentment.” “Shan’t we ever go home again?” Mavis’s eyes widened, and she looked imploringly at the others. The truth was forced on her mind at last. She had no home! Gone were all her pretty possessions—gone her trinkets, her books, her silver. Gone also her delicate trousseau—her frocks, lingerie, jewels. Everything was gone. The world itself had vanished.