Who made the machine?"

"It was here."

"But--Galatea! Who built the house? Who planted these fruit trees?"

"They were here. The house and trees were always here." She lifted her
eyes. "I told you everything had been foreseen, from the beginning until
eternity--everything. The house and trees and machine were ready for
Leucon and my parents and me. There is a place for my child, who will be
a girl, and a place for her child--and so on forever."

Dan thought a moment. "Were you born here?"

"I don't know." He noted in sudden concern that her eyes were glistening
with tears.

"Galatea, dear! Why are you unhappy? What's wrong?"

"Why, nothing!" She shook her black curls, smiled suddenly at him. "What
could be wrong? How can one be unhappy in Paracosma?" She sprang erect
and seized his hand. "Come! Let's gather fruit for tomorrow."

She darted off in a whirl of flashing silver, and Dan followed her
around the wing of the edifice. Graceful as a dancer she leaped for a
branch above her head, caught it laughingly, and tossed a great golden
globe to him. She loaded his arms with the bright prizes and sent him
back to the bench, and when he returned, she piled it so full of fruit
that a deluge of colorful spheres dropped around him. She laughed again,
and sent them spinning into the brook with thrusts of her rosy toes,
while Dan watched her with an aching wistfulness. Then suddenly she was
facing him; for a long, tense instant they stood motionless, eyes upon
eyes, and then she turned away and walked slowly around to the arched
portal. He followed her with his burden of fruit; his mind was once more
in a turmoil of doubt and perplexity.

The little sun was losing itself behind the trees of that colossal
forest to the west, and a coolness stirred among long shadows. The brook
was purple-hued in the dusk, but its cheery notes mingled still with the
flower music. Then the sun was hidden; the shadow fingers darkened the
meadow; of a sudden the flowers were still, and the brook gurgled alone
in a world of silence. In silence too, Dan entered the doorway.

The chamber within was a spacious one, floored with large black and
white squares; exquisite benches of carved marble were here and there.
Old Leucon, in a far corner, bent over an intricate, glistening
mechanism, and as Dan entered he drew a shining length of silver cloth
from it, folded it, and placed it carefully aside. There was a curious,
unearthly fact that Dan not