ed a wall, now close at hand, was not a wall at all. It was
composed of myriads of individual sparkling jewels, of every known
color, for the most part self-luminous; and each gem, apparently
entirely unsupported, was dashing in and out and along among its
fellows, weaving and darting here and there, flying at headlong speed
along an extremely tortuous, but evidently carefully calculated course.

"What can that be, anyway, Dick?" whispered Dorothy, and Seaton turned
to his guide.

"Pardon my curiosity, Orlon, but would you mind explaining the why of
that moving wall? We don't get it."

"Not at all. This garden has been the private retreat of the family of
Orlon for many thousands of years, and women of our house have been
beautifying it since its inception. You may have observed that the
statuary is very old. No such work has been done for ages. Modern art
has developed along the lines of color and motion, hence the lighting
effects and the tapestry wall. Each gem is held upon the end of a minute
pencil of force, and all the pencils are controlled by a machine which
has a key for every jewel in the wall."

Crane, the methodical, stared at the innumerable flashing jewels and
asked, "It must have taken a prodigious amount of time to complete such
an undertaking?"

"It is far from complete; in fact, it is scarcely begun. It was started
only about four hundred years ago."

"_Four hundred years!_" exclaimed Dorothy. "Do you live that long? How
long will it take to finish it, and what will it be like when it is
done?"

"No, none of us live longer than about one hundred and sixty years--at
about that age most of us decide to pass. When this tapestry wall is
finished, it will not be simply form and color, as it is now. It will be
a portrayal of the history of Norlamin from the first cooling of the
planet. It will, in all probability, require thousands of years for its
completion. You see, time is of little importance to us, and workmanship
is everything. My companion will continue working upon it until we
decide to pass; my son's companion may continue it. In any event, many
generations of the women of the Orlon will work upon it until it is
complete. When it is done, it will be a thing of beauty as long as
Norlamin shall endure."

"But suppose that your son's wife isn't that kind of an artist? Suppose
she should want to do music or painting or something else?" asked
Dorothy, curiously.

"That is quite possible; for