On a fair plateau a temple of white marble stood forth brightly in the light of the setting sun.  It was the most perfect temple ever seen.  It had a broad flight of steps, at the top of which there were pillars which almost resembled glass, so great was their purity.  In the midst of the pillars there was a broad door set with precious gems.  Here and there were alabaster urns.

No one was stirring about the temple.  The door was closed.  But at a little distance, on a perfectly kept lawn, there were numerous square blocks of marble, and on these certain extraordinary-appearing persons were seated.

We may as well know at once that the temple was the Temple of Truth; and the persons who sat on the blocks of marble, or pedestals, were known as Truth’s devotees.  The names of the devotees were graved on the pedestals, and a few of those which Everychild could see were Mr. Benevolent Institution, Dr. Orthodox Doctrine, Mrs. Justitia, Mr. Inflexible Creed, Mr. Professional Politician and Mr. Policeman.  And of course there were many others.

They were all dressed presentably enough, save that Mrs. Justitia’s robes were clearly of very cheap material, and the bandage about her eyes had slipped down so that one eye could be seen peeping out sharply; while Mr. Policeman had a really unsightly red nose, which made his blue uniform seem rather absurd.

The devotees of Truth sat staring straight before them.  They seemed sleepy, and they continually nodded their heads like mandarins.  Mr. Policeman was the only member of the group who did not nod continually.  He was fast asleep!  He stirred occasionally when a fly circled about his nose.  On these occasions he waved his hand smartly before his face.

The oddest-appearing member of the group was, perhaps, Mr. Professional Politician.  He wore a tiny mask with a smile like a cherub’s painted on it.  He kept touching the mask, as though he feared it might fall off; and when he did so it could be seen that he had an enormous, coarse hand which did not match the false face at all.

Just the same, the temple was very beautiful; and Everychild and the giant stood gazing at it with reverence.

The giant was the first to speak.  “This is the place,” he said.  “And beyond that door, inside the temple, is where my mother is hidden.”

Everychild nodded.  Presently he thought to ask:  “And all those—­those . . .”  He really could not think how to refer to those persons on the pedestals.

But the giant understood.  “We needn’t pay any attention to them just now,” he said.  “They’ll neither see nor hear us as long as we just stand here.  It’s only when we try to get into the temple that they become really terrible.”

“And what do they do then?” asked Everychild.

“Various dreadful things.  Mr. Benevolent Institution would lock us up where we’d see the sky only now and then and where we’d have to wear uniforms, and all act alike and eat alike, and go to sleep and wake up together.”