necks and bosoms, and were now going to sail a little boat made of bark
in the tiny, walled pool into which the spring flowed.

The boy had been the owner of the boat, but had given it to the little
girl the day before, and now refused to deliver it, unless she would give
him in exchange the shining shells her big brother had found, cleaned,
and fastened around her little brown arm with a string. The boy persisted
in his demand, stretching out his hand for the shells, while the little
girl, with sobs and tears, defended herself.

Xanthe, unobserved by the children, became a witness of this contest
between might and right, hastily stepped between the combatants, gave the
boy a blow on the shoulder, took the boat away, handed it to the little
maiden, and, turning to the latter, said:

"Now, play quietly together, and, if Syrus doesn't let you keep the boat
and the shells, come to me, poor Stephanion."

So saying, she wiped the little girl's eyes with her own skirt, seized
her by the shoulder, grasped the boy's black curls, pressed the two
little ones toward each other with gentle violence, and commanded:

"Now, kiss each other!"

The little girl dutifully obeyed the bidding, but the kiss the boy gave
his playmate strongly resembled a blow with the mouth.

Xanthe laughed merrily, turned her back on the children, and went slowly
down into the valley.

During her walk all sorts of little incidents flashed through her mind
with the speed of lightning; memories of the days when she herself was a
little girl and Phaon had played with her daily, as the curly-headed
Syrus now did with the herdsman's daughter.

But all the scenes swiftly conjured up before her mental vision were very
different from that just witnessed.

Once, when she had said that the brook couldn't bear to the sea all the
leaves and flowers she tossed in, Phaon only smiled quietly, but the next
day she found, fastened to an axis, a wooden cross he had carved himself
and fixed between some stones The stream swept against the broad surfaces
of the spokes and forced it to turn constantly.

For weeks both enjoyed the successful toy, but he did not ask a word of
thanks, nor did she utter any, only eagerly showed her pleasure, and that
was enough for Phaon.

If she began to build a house of sand and stones with him, and it was not
finished at once, when they went to play next day she found it roofed and
supplied with a little garden, where twigs were stuck in the sand for
trees, and red and blue buds for flowers. He had made the seat by the
spring for her, and also the little steps on the seashore, by whose aid
it was possible to enter dryshod the boat her playfellow had painted with
brilliant hues of red and blue, because a neighbor's gay skiff had
pleased her fancy.

She now thought of these and many similar acts, and that he had never
promised her anything, only placed the finished article before her as a
matter of course.

It had never entered his mind to ask compensation for his gifts or thanks
for his acts, like curly-headed Syrus. Silently he rendered her service
after service; but, unfortunately, at this hour Xanthe was not disposed
to acknowledge it.

People grow angry with no one more readily than the person from whom they
have received many favors which they are unable to repay; women, no
matter whether young or old, resemble goddesses in the fact that they
cheerfully accept every gift from a man as an offering that is their due,
so long as they are graciously disposed toward the giver, but to-day
Xanthe was inclined, to be vexed with her playmate.

A thousand joys and sorrows, shared in common, bound them to each other,
and in the farthest horizons of her recollections lay an event which had
given her affection for him a new direction. His mother and hers had died
on the same day, and since then Xanthe had thought it her duty to watch
over and care for him, at first, probably, only as a big live doll,
afterward in a more serious way. And now he was deceiving her and going
to ruin. Yet Phaon was so entirely different from the wild fellows in
Syracuse.

From a child he had been one of those who act without many words. He
liked to wander dreamily in lonely paths, with his large, dark eyes fixed
on the ground.

He rarely spoke, unless questioned. Never did he boast of being able to
accomplish, or having successfully performed, this or that feat.

He was silent at his work, and, even while engaged in merry games, set
about a task slowly, but completed whatever he undertook.

He was welcome in the wrestling-ring and at the dance, for the youths
respected his strength, grace, dexterity, and the quiet way in which he
silenced wranglers and boasters; while the maidens liked to gaze into the
handsome dreamer's eyes, and admired him, though even in the maddest
whirl of the dance he remained passionless, moving lightly in perfect
time to the measures of the tambourine and double flute.

True, many whom he forgot to notice railed at his silent ways, and even
Xanthe had often been sorely vexed when his tongue failed to utter a
single word of the significant stories told by his eyes. Ay, they under
stood how to talk! When his deep, ardent gaze rested upon her,
unwavering, but glowing and powerful as the lava-stream that sweeps every
obstacle from its still, noiseless course, she believed he was not silent
from poverty of mind and heart, but because the feelings that moved him
were so mighty that no mortal lips could clothe them in words.

Nevertheless, to-day Xanthe was angry with her playfellow, and a maiden's
wrath has two eyes--one blind, the other keener than a falcon's.

What she usually prized and valued in Phaon she now did not see at all,
but distinguished every one of his defects.

True, he had shown her much affection without words, but he was certainly
as mute as a fish, and would, doubtless, have boasted and asked for
thanks like anybody else, if indolence had not fettered his stiff tongue.

Only a short time ago she was obliged to give her hand to lanky Iphis,
because Phaon came forward too slowly. He was sleepy, a foolish dreamer,
and she would tell him it would be better for him to stretch himself
comfortably on his couch and continue to practise silence, rather than
woo foreign maidens and riot all night with dissipated companions.




CHAPTER III.

LYSANDER.

As Xanthe approached her father's house, Semestre's call and the gay
notes of a monaulus--[A musical instrument, played like our flageolet or
clarinet]--greeted her.

A conjurer had obtained admittance, and was showing his laughing audience
the tricks of his trained cocks and hens.

He was a dwarfish, bow-legged little man, with a short neck, on which
rested a big head with a very prominent forehead, that shaded his small
piercing eyes like a balcony.

The feathered actors lived in a two-wheeled cart, drawn from village to
village, and city to city, by a tiny, gayly-decked donkey.

Three cocks and four hens were now standing on the roof of the cart,
looking very comical, for their clever owner, who doubtless knew what
pleases the eyes of children and peasants, had colored their white
feathers, here and there, with brilliant red and glaring yellow.

Beside the cart stood a pale, sorrowful-looking boy, playing a merry tune
on the monaulus. Lysander, Xanthe's father, had been helped out of the
house into the sunlight, and, seated in his arm-chair of polished
olive-wood, was gazing at the show.

As soon as he saw his daughter, he beckoned to her, and stroking her
hair, while she pressed her lips to his forehead, said:

"An amusing sight! The two hens obey the little man as if they were
dutiful children. I'm glad he came, for a person like me, forbidden by
fate to enjoy the comical things to be seen out of doors, must be
grateful when they come in his way. Your feet are twitching, Dorippe.
Whenever a flute raises its voice, it moves young girls' limbs, as the
wind stirs the leaves of the poplars. You would doubtless like to begin
to dance at once."

At these words, Mopsus, keeping time to the music, advanced toward his
sweetheart, but Semestre stepped before him, exclaiming half to the lad
and half to her master:

"There must be no jumping about now. Whoever dances in the morning will
break a leg at night."

Lysander nodded assent.

"Then go into the house, Chloris, and fetch this king of hens a jug of
wine, some bread, and two cheeses."

"How many cheeses?" asked the housekeeper."

"Two," replied Lysander.

"One will be more than enough," cried Semestre--"Bring only one,
Chloris." The invalid smilingly shrugged his shoulders, clasped Xanthe's
hand as she stood beside him, and said in so low a tone that the old
woman could not hear:

"Haven't I grown like little thick-skull's hens? Semestre commands and I
must obey. There she goes after Chloris, to save the second cheese."

Xanthe smiled assent. Her father raised his voice and called to the
juggler:

"Well, my little friend, show what your actors can do.--You young people,
Mopsus and Dorippe, for aught I care, can dance as long as the monaulus
sounds, and Semestre stays in the house."

"We want first to see what the hens can do," cried the dark-haired girl,
clinging to her lover's arm, and turning with Mopsus toward the
exhibition, which now began again.

There was many an exclamation of astonishment, many a laugh, for, when
the little man ordered his largest cock to show its skill in riding, it
jumped nimbly on the donkey's back; when he ordered it to clean its
horse, it pulled a red feather out of the ornaments on the ass's head;
and finally proved itself a trumpeter, by stretching its neck and
beginning to crow.

The hens performed still more difficult feats, for they drew from a
wooden box for each spectator a leaf of a tree, on which certain
characters were visible.

The scrawl was intelligible only to the conjurer, but was said to contain
infallible information about the future, and the little man offered to
interpret the writing to each individual.

This trainer of hens was a clever dwarf, with very quick ears. He had
distinctly understood that, through Semestre, he was to lose a nice
cheese, and, when the housekeeper returned, ordered a hen to tell each
person present how many years he or she had lived in the world.

The snow-white bird, with the yellow head, scratched seventeen times
before Xanthe, and, on reaching Mopsus, twenty-three times, which was
perfectly correct.

"Now tell us this honorable lady's age too," said the conjurer to the
hen.

Semestre told Chloris to repeat what the little man had said, and was
already reflecting whether she should not let him have the second cheese,
in consideration of the "honorable lady," when the hen began to scratch
again.

Up to sixty she nodded assent, as she watched the bird's claw; at
sixty-five she compressed her lips tightly, at seventy the lines on her
brow announced a coming storm, at eighty she struck the ground violently
with her myrtle-staff, and, as the hen, scratching faster and faster,
approached ninety, and a hundred, and she saw that all the spectators
were laughing, and her master was fairly holding his sides, rushed
angrily into the house.

As soon as she had vanished behind the doors, Lysander threw the man half
a drachm, and, clapping his hands, exclaimed:

"Now, children, kick up your heels; we sha'n't see Semestre again
immediately. You did your business well, friend: but now come here and
interpret your hen's oracles."

The conjurer bowed, by bending his big head and quickly raising it again,
for his short back seemed to be immovable, approached the master of the
house, and with his little round fingers grasped at the leaf in
Lysander's hand; but the latter hastily drew it back, saying:

"First this girl, then I, for her future is long, while mine--"

"Yours," interrupted the dwarf, standing before Lysander--"yours will be
a pleasant one, for the hen has drawn for you a leaf that means peaceful
happiness."

"A violet-leaf!" exclaimed Xanthe. "Yes, a violet-leaf," repeated the
conjurer. "Put it in my hand. There are--just look here--there are seven
lines, and seven--everybody knows that--seven is the number of health.
Peaceful happiness in good health, that is what your oracle says." "The
gods owe me that, after suffering so long," sighed Lysander. "At any
rate, come back here in a year, and if your cackling Pythia and this
little leaf tell the truth, and I am permitted to bring it to you without
support or crutch, I'll give you a stout piece of cloth for a new cloak;
yet nay, better try your luck in six months, for your chiton looks sicker
than I, and will hardly last a whole year."

"Not half a one," replied the conjurer, with a sly smile. "Give me the
piece of stuff to-day, that, when I come back in a month, I may have
suitable garments when I amuse the guests at the feast given for your
recovery. I'm no giant, and shall not greatly impair your store."

"We'll see what can be done," replied Lysander, laughing, "and if, when
you return in a month, I don't turn you from the door as a bad prophet,
in spite of your fine clothes, your flute-player shall have a piece of
linen for his thin limbs. But now foretell my daughter's future, too."

The dwarf took Xanthe's leaf from her hand, and said:

"This comes from an olive-tree, is particularly long, and has a light and
dark side. You will live to a great age, and your life will be more or
less happy as you shape it."

"As you shape it," repeated the girl. "That's a real hen's oracle. 'As
people do, so things will be,' my nurse used to say every third word."
Disappointed and angry, she threw the leaf on the ground, and turned her
back on the little man.

The conjurer watched her keenly and searchingly, as not without
difficulty he picked up the leaf. Then glancing pleasantly at her father,
he called her back, pointed with his finger to the inner surface, and
said:

"Just look at these lines, with the little strokes here at the end.
That's a snail with horns. A slow creature! It warns people not to be
over-hasty. If you feel inclined to run, check your steps and ask where
the path will lead."

"And move through life like a cart creaping down into the valley with
drags on the wheels," interrupted Xanthe. "I expected something unlike
school-masters' lessons from the clever hen that loaded Semestre with so
many years."

"Only question her about what is in your heart," replied the little man,
"and she won't fail to answer."

The young girl glanced irresolutely at the conjurer, but repressed the
desire to learn more of the future, fearing her father's laughter. She
knew that, when Lysander was well and free from pain, nothing pleased him
so much as to tease her till she wept.

The invalid guessed what was passing in his little daughter's mind, and
said, encouragingly:

"Ask the hen. I'll stop both ears while you question the oracle. Yes,
yes, one can scarcely hear his own voice for the monaulus and the shouts
of the crazy people yonder.

"Such sounds lure those who are fond of dancing, as surely as a
honey-comb brings flies. By the dog! there are four merry couples
already! Only I miss Phaon. You say the couch in my brother's house has
grown too hard for him, and he has found softer pillows in Syracuse. With
us the day began long ago, but in the city perhaps they haven't quite
finished with yesterday. I'm sorry for the fine fellow."

"Is it true," asked Xanthe, blushing, "that my uncle is seeking a rich
bride for him in Messina?"

"Probably, but in courtship one does not always reach the desired goal.
Has Phaon told you nothing about his father's wishes? Question the
conjurer, or he'll get his new clothes with far too little trouble. Save
me the reproach of being a spendthrift."

"I don't wish to do so; what is the use of such folly?" replied Xanthe,
with flushed cheeks, preparing to go into the house.

Her father shrugged his shoulders, and, turning his head, called after
her:

"Do as you please, but cut a piece from the brown woolen cloth, and bring
it to the conjurer."

The young girl disappeared in the house. The tune which the boy drew from
the monaulus again and again sounded monotonous, but the young people
constantly grew more mirthful; higher and higher sprang the bounding
feet.

The ribbons fluttered as if a storm had seized them; many a gay garment
waved; and there was no end to the shouts and clapping of hands in time
with the music.

When Mopsus, or any other lad, raised his voice unusually loud, or a
young girl laughed in the overflowing joy of her heart, Lysander's eyes
sparkled like sunshine, and he often raised his hands and swayed merrily
to and fro to the measure of the music.

"Your heart really dances with the young people," said the conjurer.

"But it lacks feet," replied Lysander, and then he told him about his
fall, and the particulars of his sufferings, the danger in which he had
been, the remedies used, and the final convalescence. He did this with
great pleasure, for it always relieved his mind when he was permitted to
tell the story of his life to a sympathizing auditor, and few had
listened more attentively than did the conjurer, partly from real
interest, partly in anticipation of the cloth.

The little man frequently interrupted Lysander with intelligent
questions, and did not lose patience when the speaker paused to wave his
hand to the merry group.

"How they laugh and enjoy themselves!" the invalid again exclaimed. "They
are all young, and before I had this fall--"

The sentence was not finished, for the notes of the monaulus suddenly
ceased, the dancers stopped, and, instead of the music and laughter,
Semestre's voice was heard; but at the same time Xanthe, carrying a small
piece of brown cloth over her arm, approached the sick man. The latter at
first looked at his daughter's flushed face with some surprise, then
again glanced toward the scene of the interrupted dance, for something
was happening there which he could not fully approve, though it forced
him to laugh aloud.

The young people, whose sport had been interrupted, had recovered from
their fright and joined in a long chain.

Mopsus led the saucy band.

A maiden followed each youth, and the whole party were united, for each
individual grasped the person in front with both hands.

Singing a rhythmical dancing-tune, with the upper portion of the body
bent forward, and executing dainty steps with their feet, they circled
faster and faster around the furious house-keeper.

The latter strove to catch first Chloris, then Dorippe, then some other
maiden, but ere she succeeded the chain separated, joining again behind
her ere she could turn. Mopsus and his dark-haired sweetheart were again
the leaders. When the ring broke the youths and maidens quickly grasped
each other again, and the chain of singing, laughing lads and lasses once
more whirled around the old woman.

For some time the amused master of the house could not succeed in shaking
his head disapprovingly; but when the old housekeeper, who had never
ceased scolding and shaking her myrtle-staff, began to totter from anger
and excitement, Lysander thought the jest was being carried too far, and,
turning to his daughter, exclaimed:

"Go, rescue Semestre and drive those crazy people away. Fun must not go
beyond proper bounds."

Xanthe instantly obeyed the command the chain parted, the youths hurrying
one way, the maidens another; the lads escaped, and so did all the girls
except dark-haired Dorippe, who was caught by Semestre and driven into
the house with angry words and blows.

"There will be tears after the morning dance," said Lysander, "and I
advise you, friend, if you want to avoid a scolding yourself, to leave
the place at once with your feathered artists. Give the man the cloth,
Xanthe."

Xanthe handed the brown woolen stuff to the conjurer.

She blushed faintly as she did so, for, while attempting to cut from the
piece a sufficient quantity, Semestre had snatched the knife from her
hand, exclaiming rudely:

"Half that is twice too much for the insolent rascal."

The little man took the scanty gift, spread it out to its full extent,
and, turning to Lysander, said:

"At our age people rarely experience new emotions, but to-day, for the
first time since I stopped growing, I wish I was still smaller than I am
now."

The invalid had shaken his head discontentedly at sight of the tiny
piece, and, as the conjurer was refolding it over his knee, loosed from
his shoulders the chlamys he himself wore, saying gravely:

"Take this cloak, for what Lysander promises he does not perform by
halves."

The last words were addressed to Semestre as well as the dwarf, for the
old house-keeper, with panting breath and trembling hands, now approached
her master.

Kind words were not to be expected from her mouth now, but even more
bitter and vehement reproaches sprang to her lips as she saw her master
give his scarcely-worn chlamys to a strolling vagrant, and also presume
to reward her economy with taunts.

She had carefully woven the cloak with her own hands, and that, she
cried, was the way her labor was valued! There was plenty of cloth in the
chests, which Lysander could divide among the buffoons at the next fair
in Syracuse. In other countries, even among wild barbarians, white hairs
were honored, but here the elders taught the young people to insult them
with jeers and mockery.

At these words the invalid's face turned pale, a dark shadow appeared
under his eyes, and an expression of pain hovered around his mouth. He
looked utterly exhausted.

Every feature betrayed how the old woman's shrill voice and passionate
words disturbed him, but he could not silence her by loud rebukes, for
his voice failed, and he therefore sought to make peace by the soothing
gestures of his thin hands and his beseeching eyes.

Xanthe felt and saw that her father was suffering, and exclaimed in a
fearless, resolute tone:

"Silence, Semestre! your scolding is hurting my father."

These words increased the house-keeper's wrath instead of lessening it.
In a half-furious, half-whining tone, she exclaimed:

"So it comes to this! The child orders the old woman. But you shall know,
Lysander, that I won't allow myself to be mocked like a fool. That
impudent Mopsus is your freed-woman's child, and served this house for
high wages, but he shall leave it this very day, so surely as I hope to
live until the vintage. He or I! If you wish to keep him, I'll go to
Agrigentum and live with my daughter and grandchildren, who send to me by
every messenger. If this insolent fellow is more to you than I am, I'll
leave this place of ingratitude. In Agrigentum--"

"It is beautiful in Agrigentum!" interrupted the conjurer, pointing with
his finger impressively in the direction of this famous city.

"It is delightful there," cried the old woman, "so long as one doesn't
meet pygmies like you in the streets."

The house-keeper was struggling for breath, and her master took advantage
of the pause to murmur beseechingly, like a child who is to be deprived
of something it loves:

"Mopsus must go--merry Mopsus? Nobody knows how to lift and support me so
well."

These words softened Semestre's wrath, and, lowering her voice, she
replied:

"You will no longer need the lad for that purpose; Leonax, Alciphron's
son, is coming to-day. He'll lift and support you as if you were his own
father. The people in Messina are friendly and honor age, for, while you
jeer at me, they remember the old woman, and will send me a beautiful
matron's-robe for the future wedding."

The invalid looked inquiringly at his daughter, and the latter answered,
blushing:

"Semestre has told me. She informed me, while I was cutting the cloth,
that Leonax would come as a suitor."

"May he fare better than Alkamenes and the others, whom you sent home!
You know I will not force your inclinations, but, if I am to lose Mopsus,
I should like a pleasant son. Why has Phaon fallen into such foolish,
evil ways? The young Leonax--"

"Is of a different stamp," interrupted Semestre--"Now come, my dove, I
have a thousand things to do."

"Go," replied Xanthe. "I'll come directly.--You will feel better, father,
if you rest now. Let me help you into the house, and lie down on the
cushion for a time."

The young girl tried to lift her father, but her strength was too feeble
to raise the wearied man. At last, with the conjurer's help, he succeeded
in rising, and the latter whispered earnestly in his ear:

"My hens tell me many things, but another oracle behind my forehead says,
you are on the high-road to recovery, but you won't reach the goal,
unless you treat the old woman, who is limping into the house yonder, as
I do the birds I train."

"And what do you do?"

"Teach them to obey me, and if I see that they assert their own wills,
sell them and seek others."

"You are not indebted to the stupid creatures for anything?"

"But I owe so much the more to the others, who do their duty."

"Quite true, and therefore you feed and keep them."

"Until they begin to grow old and refuse obedience."

"And then?"

"Then I give them to a peasant, on whose land they lay eggs, eat and die.
The right farmer for your hens lives in Agrigentum."

Lysander shrugged his shoulders; and, as, leaning on his daughter, he
tottered slowly forward, almost falling on the threshold, Xanthe took a
silent vow to give him a son on whom he could firmly depend--a stalwart,
reliable man.




CHAPTER IV.

THE TWO SUCKING-PIGS.

Fifteen minutes had passed, and the old house-keeper's face still
glowed--no longer from anger, but because, full of zeal, she now moulded
cakes before the bright flames on the hearth, now basted the roast on the
spit with its own juices.

Beside her stood old Jason, who could not give up his young master's
cause for lost, and exposed himself once more to the arrows of Semestre's
angry words, because he bitterly repented having irritated instead of
winning her.

Unfortunately, his soothing speeches fell on hard ground, for Semestre
scarcely vouchsafed a reply, and at last distinctly intimated that he
interrupted her.

"Attention," she said, "is the mother of every true success. It is even
more needful in cooking than in weaving; and if Leonax, for whom my hands
are busy, resembles his father, he knows how to distinguish bad from
good."

"Alciphron," replied Jason, "liked the figs on our arbor by the house
better than yours."

"And while he was enjoying them," cried the old woman, "you beat him with
a hazel rod. I can hear him cry now, poor little dear."

"Too many figs are bad for the stomach," replied the old man, very slowly
and distinctly, but not too loud, that he might not remind her of her
deafness. Then seeing Semestre smile, he drew nearer, and with winning
cheerfulness continued: "Be sensible, and don't try to part the children,
who belong to each other. Xanthe, too, is fond of figs, and, if Leonax
shares his father's taste, how will the sweet fruit of your favorite
trees fare, if Hymen unites them in marriage? Phaon doesn't care for
sweet things. But seriously: though his father may seek twenty brides for
him, he himself wants no one but Xanthe. And can you deny that he is a
handsome, powerful fellow?"

"So is the other," cried Semestre, wholly unmoved by these words. "Have
you seen your favorite this morning? No! Do you know where he slept last
night and the night before?"

"On his couch, I suppose."

"In your house?"

"I don't run after the youth, now he is grown up."

"Neither shall we! You are giving yourself useless trouble, Jason, and I
earnestly beg you not to disturb me any longer now, for a dark spot is
already appearing on the roast. Quick, Chloris--lift the spit from the
fire!"

"I should like to bid Lysander good-morning."

"He is tired, and wants to see no one. The servants have vexed him."

"Then I'll stay awhile in the garden."

"To try your luck with Xanthe? I tell you, it's trouble wasted, for she's
dressing her hair to receive our guest from Messina; and, if she were
standing where those cabbage-leaves be, she wouldn't contradict me if I
were to repeat what you heard from my lips this morning at sunrise. Our
girl will never become Phaon's wife until I myself offer a sacrifice to
Aphrodite, that she may fill Xanthe's heart with love for him."

Jason shrugged his shoulders, and was preparing to turn his back on the
old woman, when Dorippe entered and approached the hearth. Her eyes were
red with weeping, and in her arms she carried a round, yellowish-white
creature that, struggling and stretching it's little legs in the air,
squealed in a clear, shrill voice, even more loudly and piteously than a
hungry babe.

It was a pretty, well-fattened sucking pig.

Jason looked at it significantly, but Semestre snatched it out of the