It was only a fleeting glimpse of the king that they got, as he passed
from his chair to the temple gate; but this was enough to repay Yung Pak
for the rushing and the crowding and the waiting that he had been
obliged to endure. Rare indeed were these glimpses of his Majesty, and
they afforded interest and excitement enough to last a long while.

But the procession was not over yet. A chair covered with red silk,
borne on the shoulders of sixteen chair-men, passed up to the temple.

"Who is in that chair?" asked Yung Pak of his companion.

"The crown prince," was Kim Yong's reply.

"He attends his royal father in all these ceremonies of state."

Yung Pak drew a long breath, but said nothing. He only thought what a
fine thing it must be to be a king's son, and wear such gorgeous
clothes, and have so many servants at his call.

And then he had a second thought. He would not want to exchange his
splendid father for all the glory and magnificence of the king's court.

After the king and the crown prince, with their attendant officials and
servants and priests, had gone into the temple, Yung Pak and Kim Yong
did not stay longer at their post. The order of the procession had
broken, and the king and his immediate retinue would return privately to
the palace after he should pay homage and offer sacrifice to the spirits
of his ancestors.