All the time there was a tremendous beating of drums and blowing of horns and ringing of bells.  The noise was so great that Kim Yong hardly heard Yung Pak when he shouted: 

“Oh, I see papa!”

“Where is he?”

“Don’t you see him right behind that little man in yellow who is carrying a big blue flag?”

“Oh, yes,” said Kim Yong.  “He has on a long green robe, and on his turban are long orange plumes.”

“Yes; and on both sides of him, in green gauze coats, are his servants.  I wonder if he will notice us as he goes by.”

“Indeed he will not.  At least, if he does see us, he will give no sign, for this is too solemn and important an occasion for him to relax his dignity.”

On state occasions Ki Pak could look as sedate and dignified as the most serious official in all Korea; and that is saying a good deal, for in no country do the officials appear more solemn than in this “Land of the Morning Radiance.”

Now along came more soldiers, followed by the great nobles of the kingdom, and finally, amid a most terrific beating of drums, a fearful jangling of bells, and a horrid screaming of pipes, the guard of the king himself appeared.

Suddenly all was silent.  Drum-beating, pipe-blowing, and shouting all died away.  The sound of hurried footsteps alone was heard.  All at once into sight came the imperial chair of state.  In this chair was the king, but not yet could Yung Pak get a glimpse of his royal master.  Yellow silken panels hid him from the view of the curious crowd, and over the top was a canopy of the same description, ornamented with heavy, rich tassels.

This gorgeous chair was much heavier than those used by officials and ordinary citizens, and it took thirty-two men to carry it quickly and safely past the throng to the entrance of the temple.  Only a few minutes were necessary for this journey, for the temple was but a short distance from the palace gate, and both were in plain sight of Yung Pak and Kim Yong.

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.