In the elder days of the Wide Web, when bright screens glowed in dim-lit halls and modem-song shrieked through copper, wandered a seeker, web-weary, whose mouse-hand lingered where others hurried past with glassy eyes.

Many strode the pathways of the hyperlink halls, bold in boasting, crying: "All is seen! All is indexed! No hidden chamber escapes our crawling!" Yet they clicked only the brightest banners, the loudest icons gilded in GIF-fire, ignoring the humble underlined runes resting quiet in the margins.

Then the wanderer, curious-hearted, paused before a little blue word half-buried beneath dusty footnotes, small as a mouse beneath oak-benches. No trumpet marked it. No Java applet flashed warning nor beckoned with song. Yet the seeker pressed the rune regardless.

Lo! A hidden hall opened beyond it, where stood two tiger-beasts of warning bearing the eternal banner of construction. There rested old words no crawler sought, and beneath them the holy sigil of Internet Explorer gleamed faintly still. No treasure lay there. No forbidden lore. Only the ancient joy of having found the page at all.

Then laughed the keeper of that secret place, greybeard of the server-racks, saying:

"Hidden? Nay. It stood in plain sight all these years. But few now possess the ancient art of clicking every damned hyperlink."

And the seeker remained there many hours, while outside the hurried multitudes scrolled endlessly onward, unseeing.