The bathing hall had several great pools sunk below the level of the floor; one went down to them by steps. “Jimmy,” said Anthea timidly, when, very clean and boiled-looking, they all met in the flowery courtyard of the Public, “don’t you think all this seems much more like _now_ than Babylon or Egypt—? Oh, I forgot, you’ve never been there.” “I know a little of those nations, however,” said he, “and I quite agree with you. A most discerning remark—my dear,” he added awkwardly; “this city certainly seems to indicate a far higher level of civilization than the Egyptian or Babylonish, and—” “Follow me,” said the Captain. “Now, boys, get out of the way.” He pushed through a little crowd of boys who were playing with dried chestnuts fastened to a string. “Ginger!” remarked Robert, “they’re playing conkers, just like the kids in Kentish Town Road!” They could see now that three walls surrounded the island on which they were. The outermost wall was of brass, the Captain told them; the next, which looked like silver, was covered with tin; and the innermost one was of oricalchum. And right in the middle was a wall of gold, with golden towers and gates. “Behold the Temples of Poseidon,” said the Captain. “It is not lawful for me to enter. I will await your return here.” He told them what they ought to say, and the five people from Fitzroy Street took hands and went forward. The golden gates slowly opened. “We are the children of the Sun,” said Cyril, as he had been told, “and our High Priest, at least that’s what the Captain calls him. We have a different name for him at home.” “What is his name?” asked a white-robed man who stood in the doorway with his arms extended. “Ji-jimmy,” replied Cyril, and he hesitated as Anthea had done. It really did seem to be taking a great liberty with so learned a gentleman. “And we have come to speak with your Kings in the Temple of Poseidon—does that word sound right?” he whispered anxiously. “Quite,” said the learned gentleman. “It’s very odd I can understand what you say to them, but not what they say to you.” “The Queen of Babylon found that too,” said Cyril; “it’s part of the magic.” “Oh, what a dream!” said the learned gentleman. The white-robed priest had been joined by others, and all were bowing low. “Enter,” he said, “enter, Children of the Sun, with your High Ji-jimmy.” In an inner courtyard stood the Temple—all of silver, with gold pinnacles and doors, and twenty enormous statues in bright gold of men and women. Also an immense pillar of the other precious yellow metal. They went through the doors, and the priest led them up a stair into a gallery from which they could look down on to the glorious place. “The ten Kings are even now choosing the bull. It is not lawful for me to behold,” said the priest, and fell face downward on the floor outside the gallery. The children looked down.