Up, up the hundreds of steps he climbed, never wearied. On the ceiling
of this marvelous hall he could see carved the stars of heaven. On the
silver doors were the twelve strange beings of the sky, formed of stars;
six on each door.

The last step was reached. Outside the sky was dark, but at the doorway
Phaeton stopped, for the light from his father was more than he could
bear. There sat Apollo, dressed in crimson, on a throne which glittered
with diamonds. On his right hand and on his left stood the Days, bright
with hope; and the Months, hand in hand with the Days, seemed listening
to what the Years were whispering to them.

Phaeton saw there the four seasons. Spring, young and lovely, came
first, her head crowned with flowers. Next came Summer, with her robe of
roses thrown loosely about her and a garland of ripe wheat upon her
head. Then came merry Autumn, his feet stained with grape juice; and
last, icy Winter, with frosty beard and hair, and Phaeton shivered as he
looked at him. Dazzled by the light, and startled to find himself in
such a presence, he stood still.

The Sun, seeing him with the eye that sees everything, asked:

"Why are you here?"

"Apollo, my father, grant me one request, that I may prove to mortals
that you are my father."

Apollo laid aside his dazzling crown of rays, clasped Phaeton in his
arms and said: