“I never saw anything like that before,” observed Kokomo (meaning the apple). “How did it come to be?” “It grew on a tree,” said Maida. “What’s a tree?” asked Kokomo. “Why a tree is--a--a tree----” (Now do you know it _is_ rather difficult to explain just what a tree is to a person who has never seen one?) “Why a tree is a great big post of wood that grows right out of the ground and there are leaves on it, and in the Summer apples hang from the branches.” Kokomo looked at Maida in a very disappointed way, then went to the Man with the Growly Voice. “Did you hear what that little maid told me?” she asked him and pointed to Maida. “Oh, yes, and it’s quite true,” he replied, laughing. Kokomo bowed humbly. “I am your handmaid--you are my Lord,” she said. “If you say the story is true and these things are, then it is true, and they _are_--I will believe you, if you bid me--but why not confess the truth, that you _made_ the apple.” By this time all of the natives of Arcturia who could crowd in the hotel office were gathered about listening with all their ears. The Man with the Growly Voice thought to dazzle them with stories of his own country. “In my country,” he began, “there are so many trees we cannot count them. In the Summer they are all green. The grass is green too--it grows like a carpet underfoot. Lovely clear rivers flow past the cities and when the weather is warm there is no ice and snow and the young men play and swim in the water, like the seals.” At this, a hoarse murmur burst from the crowd--and an old medicine man pushed his way forward. “You say your land is all green,” he shouted,--“all green.” Without waiting for a reply, he continued--turning to his comrades. “Oh, a horrible land. The green sun rises in the green East. The green seal peers through a green hole in the ice. Men and women, bears and birds, all green--oh, a horrible land”; and wildly shaking his head, he hobbled away. Another took his place and shook his finger wildly in his anger. “It is not green in that land,” he shouted. “See this man is not green. But his tongue is crooked. He tells us of posts of wood that grow out of the ground. How can such things be? All men know that wood floats in from the sea, when the ice is gone, and that it comes in no other way. How then can it grow out of the ground? He speaks of grass that grows like a carpet beneath the feet. How can this be? Is not the snow and ice too thick for anything to force its way through? _We_ have never seen anything like that. There is nothing of that sort here, and everyone knows _this_ is the finest and most wonderful country in the world. Then the horrible tale he tells about men who swim in the water like seals. We know that to be false. It is well known that when water covers a man, he dies. I am an old man but water has never touched my skin.”