Save for a casual pioneer bungalow or two, there are no buildings to attract the notice until one reaches a high fence that marks the beginning of the Holden lot.

Back of this fence is secreted a microcosmos, a world in little, where one may encounter strange races of people in their native dress and behold, by walking a block, cities actually apart by league upon league of the earth's surface and separated by centuries of time.
To penetrate this city of many cities, and this actual present of the remote past, one must be of a certain inner elect.

Hardly may one enter by assuming the disguise of a native, as daring explorers have sometimes overcome the difficulty of entering other strange cities.

Its gate, reached after passing along an impressive expanse of the reticent fence, is watched by a guardian.

He is a stoatish man of middle age, not neatly dressed, and of forbidding aspect.