“Do you know anything about my sister?” “The Queen’s new lap-child? Oh—she’s a great pet—her gold collar with her name on it came home today. My cousin’s brother-in-law made it.” “The name—Kathleen?” said Mavis. “The name on the collar is Fido,” said Ulfin. The next day Ulfin brought their tickets-of-leaves, made of the leaves of the tree of Liberty which grows at the bottom of the well where Truth lies. “Don’t lose them,” he said, “and come with me.” They found it quite possible to move along slowly on hands and tails, though they looked rather like seals as they did so. He led them through the strange streets of massive passages, pointing out the buildings, giving them their names as you might do if you were showing the marvels of your own city to a stranger. “That’s the Astrologers’ Tower,” he said, pointing to a huge building high above the others. “The wise men sit there and observe the stars.” “But you can’t see the stars down here.” “Oh, yes, we can. The tower is fitted up with tubes and mirrors and water transparence apparatus. The wisest men in the country are there—all but the Professor of Conchology. He’s the wisest of all. He invented the nets that caught you—or rather, making nets was one of the things that he had learned and couldn’t forget.” “But who thought of using them for catching prisoners?” “I did,” said Ulfin proudly, “I’m to have a glass medal for it.” “Do you have glass down here?” “A little comes down, you know. It is very precious. We engrave it. That is the Library—millions of tables of stone—the Hall of Public Joy is next to it—that garden is the mothers’ garden where they go to rest while their children are at school—that’s one of our schools. And here’s the Hall of Public Archives.” The Keeper of the Records received them with grave courtesy. The daily services of Ulfin had accustomed the children to the appearance of the Under Folk, and they no longer found their strange, mournful faces terrifying, and the great hall where, on shelves cut out of the sheer rock, were stored the graven tables of Underworld Records, was very wonderful and impressive. “What is it you want to know?” said the Keeper, rolling away some of the stones he had been showing them. “Ulfin said there was something special.” “Why the war began?” said Francis. “Why the King and Queen are different?” said Mavis. “The war,” said the Keeper of the Records, “began exactly three million five hundred and seventy-nine thousand three hundred and eight years ago. An Under-man, getting off his Sea Horse in a hurry trod on the tail of a sleeping Merman. He did not apologize because he was under a vow not to speak for a year and a day. If the Mer-people had only waited he would have explained, but they went to war at once, and, of course, after that you couldn’t expect him to apologize. And the war has gone on, off and on and on and off, ever since.” [Illustration: _The Hall of Public Archives._] “And won’t it ever stop?” asked Bernard.