Really-Is, when he was asked what should be done, answered with a smile:
"_The Crown is not the kingdom, nor is one King because he wears a
Crown_."
And the people, when the trumpets made it known that there was no crown
and declared the word of Really-Is, with one voice cried loudly:
"Really-Is is King! Really-Is needs no Crown! Long live Really-Is, our
King!"
Thus the True King ascended the throne of Allthetime, and the trumpeters
trumpeted loudly many times: "Long live the king who needs no crown!"
and with a great shout the people answered again many times: "Long live
our Uncrowned King! Long live our Uncrowned King!"
"And this, O Hadji," said the glad Voice of the New Day, "is how it came
to be that in the days that now are, there is, in this Royal City
Daybyday, in the wonderful Land of Allthetime, no crown."
And this also you must know, that in the reign of Really-Is the people
of Daybyday have more and more turned from their many gods to worship
only the god of their King, until there is left now of the many deserted
temples only ruins, and of the many gods of the many people of many
races, languages and names only one, the god of Really-Is,
Things-That-Ought-To-Be. The mighty Wall that was built, they thought,
on the foundations of the world, when there was no longer a crown to
keep, of its own great weight fell. And the Royal City Daybyday, in the
reign of Really-Is, is extending its borders more and more, until there
are those who think that with the City Sometime it will soon be one, and
then they say that the promises made by Really-Is and the Princess of
Yettocome will be fulfilled and that the glory and splendor of their
reign will fill the world.
"But of that, O Hadji," said the glad Voice of the New Day, "I cannot
tell you now. I have finished The Tale of The Uncrowned King."
The Voice that was in the Morning ceased. The Quiet Room was filled with
light. Quickly the Pilgrim arose and going to the window saw in all its
glory the New Day.
Every leaf of the tall trees, every blade and every inwoven flower in
the velvet carpet of green, wore beads of shining crystal that sparkled
and glittered in radiant splendor. Every tiny ripple that ran on the
Beautiful Sea was a line of silver flame. And in the overhead ocean of
pearly light, floated glowing banks of orange, and scarlet and gold,
while, to the Pilgrim, bird and tree and plant and flower and wave and
cloud seemed to join in one glad triumphant shout: "Long live Really-Is!
Long live The Uncrowned King!"
Then the Pilgrim who had paid The Price, who had fulfilled The Law of
the Pilgrimage, who had asked of Thyself, the Keeper of the Temple of
Truth, "Why," went to lay his offering on the altar to the god
That-Never-Can Change.
And his offering was Himself.