excitedly their words of greeting.

The Chemist welcomed them heartily, but with a quiet, curious air of
dignity that they did not remember he possessed before. He seemed to
have aged considerably since they had last seen him. The lines in his
face had deepened; the hair on his temples was white. He seemed also to
be rather taller than they remembered him, and certainly he was stouter.

He was dressed in a long, flowing robe of white cloth, gathered in at
the waist by a girdle, from which hung a short sword, apparently of gold
or of beaten brass. His legs were bare; on his feet he wore a form of
sandal with leather thongs crossing his insteps. His hair grew long over
his ears and was cut off at the shoulder line in the fashion of the
natives.

When the first words of greeting were over, the Chemist turned to the
boy, who was standing apart, watching them with big, interested eyes.

"My friends," he said quietly, yet with a little underlying note of
pride in his voice, "this is my son."

The boy approached deferentially. He was apparently about ten or eleven
years of age, tall as his father's shoulder nearly, extremely slight of
build, yet with a body perfectly proportioned. He was dressed in a white
robe similar to his father's, only shorter, ending at his knees. His
skin was of a curious, smooth, milky whiteness, lacking the gray, harder
look of that of the native men, and with just a touch of the iridescent
quality possessed by the women. His features were cast in a delicate
mold, pretty enough almost to be called girlish, yet with a firm
squareness of chin distinctly masculine.

His eyes were blue; his thick, wavy hair, falling to his shoulders, was
a chestnut brown. His demeanor was graceful and dignified, yet with a
touch of ingenuousness that marked him for the care-free child he really
was. He held out his hands palms up as he approached.

"My name is Loto," he said in a sweet, soft voice, with perfect
self-possession. "I'm glad to meet my father's friends." He spoke
English with just a trace of the liquid quality that characterized his
mother's tongue.

"You are late getting here," remarked the Chemist with a smile, as the
three travelers, completely surprised by this sudden introduction,
gravely shook hands with the boy.

During this time the young Oroid who had guided them down from the
forest above the tunnels, had been standing respectfully behind them, a
few feet away. A short distance farther on