“Oh no. All members of the Omdurlis get one hundred laikas. All that they make above that they are bound to send to the Rorka. He places all the surplus in the general fund which is held in reserve for all Keemarnians. As each male Keemarnian reaches the age when he has seen the Kymo rise three thousand and thirty times, he journeys to Hoormoori, makes his bow to the Rorka, and receives from him his manhood. According to the station in life in which he has been born, and from which he has sprung, so he learns to take his part in life.” “It is a wonderful system in theory,” said Sir John. “But how does it work in practice?” “It is our custom,” was all the reply the Waz made. “But don’t you sometimes find you get dissentient spirits? Don’t they rebel against this formality? Don’t they want to make more money than is allowed by custom? Don’t you sometimes have trouble from these spirits?” Waz-Y-Kjesta smiled. “In our books of science we have read that in other places than ours—there were troubles like those you name. That man fought man—brother hated brother—women sorrowed, and children were rendered homeless. We, in Keemar, know not the meaning of such things. We are happy; we are content with our life; why should we complain?” There were no ugly streets and lines of shops in this wonderful city; but the Omdurlis were to be found here and there at the edge of the grass covered paths, while the houses lay further back. Everywhere were to be seen happy-faced men and women, and laughing children. Bhors driven by colis, and bhors driven by the etheric power that was used for lighting and propelling purposes, thronged the streets, and the whole scene was gay and beautiful. Although the sky was a wonderful blue, and all the buildings were of white and brilliant coloured marbles, the whole effect had none of the tawdry or bizarre appearance of the cities of the East, in the world; but the whole was soothing and pleasing to the jaded nerves of the earth folks. They turned a corner and found themselves in a short road ending in a cul-de-sac formed by high gates and marble pillars. “This is one of the houses,” said Waz-Y-Kjesta. “Come, and see it.” The garden entranced Mavis before she saw the house. It was like a picture out of the fairyland she had dreamt of as a child—the fairyland she had dreamt of as a woman! For are not all true women half fairies at heart? Is not the mysticism of life itself a fairy gift to a pure woman’s mind? Mavis had lived her life among the fairies. As a child she had played with them in bluebell woods and primrose glades; and when she renewed her own childhood in her baby, she renewed through him her acquaintance with the fairies.