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“I will pity Seemsto-Be,” replied The King in sorrow, “I will have much pity for that poor, foolish one.”

“And peace will dwell in thy heart, O King of Allthetime,” said Wisdom, “true peace and understanding.”

Then Really-Is, alone and unattended, rode slowly on his way.

And Seemsto-Be, who rode so fast and so far ahead of Really-Is, and who paused not at the house of Wisdom, entered the city Daybyday through the Brazen Gate called Chance, and was received by the people of many races, languages, names and religions as their king.

With great tumult and shouting, with grand processions and ceremonies, the false prince ascended the throne of Allthetime and was crowned with the Magic Crown–the Crown of which no one then knew its magic, but knew only that its magic was.

Then began such times as were never before nor since seen in Daybyday; with holiday after holiday for the people, with festivals and parades, with carnivals and games, with feasting and dancing; until the chief occupation of the people was forgotten–until their many temples were empty, their many gods neglected; until with a fete extraordinary, Seemsto-Be decreed that there should be from henceforth and forever, in Daybyday, one temple only–one temple sacred to one god, the god Things-Are-Good-Enough.

“And this, O Hadji,” said the sad Voice of the Night, “is all The Tale of The Uncrowned King that is given me to tell.”

The Voice in the darkness ceased. The Pilgrim, rising, groped his way to the window.

Without, all was dark with a thick darkness–all was still with a heavy stillness. Only the stars were in the Deeps Above. The stars so old, so ever new–only the stars. Lifting his face, the Pilgrim looked at the stars, and lo! as he looked, those whirling worlds of light shaped themselves into mighty letters, and the letters shaped themselves into words, until in the heavens the Pilgrim read the truth that Wisdom had given to Really-Is in the little house beside the road. “The Crown is not the kingdom, nor is one King because he wears a crown.”

Then even as he stood the Pilgrim saw the sad Night preparing to depart. Far away beyond the stars the first faint light of the morning touched the sky. Slowly the world began to awake. Slowly the message in the stars was lost in the dawning greater light of A New Day.

AND THE FOURTH VOICE WAS THE VOICE OF THE NEW DAY.

It was gray dawn when the Pilgrim turned once more to his couch in The Quiet Room.

Without the Temple, tree and bush and plant and grass were beginning to stir with fresh and joyous strength, while the clean air was rich with the smell of the earth life and filled with murmuring, twittering, whispering, morning calls. Through the open window, into The Quiet Room where the Pilgrim lay, the Bright Morning entered, and out of the Morning came the glad, glad Voice of the New Day.

Said this Voice to the Pilgrim: “To thee, O Hadji, I come from the Infinite Future. The interminable, eternal times that are to come, that begin but never end. I cry from the Deeps Within. I call from the Great That Will Be. I, too, am a Voice of Life, and mine it is to complete for you The Tale of The Uncrowned King.”

And this is the part of the Tale that the Voice of the New Day completed.

Really-Is, the true King of Allthetime, after leaving Wisdom in his little house beside the road, journeyed slowly and thoughtfully toward the Royal City Daybyday, along the way that leads to the Golden Gate Opportunity. And while the pretender, Seemsto-Be, was delighting the people with great feasts, and amusing them with all manner of festivals, parades and games, Really-Is, very quietly–so quietly that his brother did not know–entered the city and took up his abode in a tiny house under the walls of a deserted temple once sacred to the god Things-That-Ought-To-Be.