Chapter III: Preface (3)

"When I was in school one of my lessons was about the beautiful goddess Aurora. She was said to open the rosy gates of dawn with her own fingers, so that the wonderful horses of Apollo might pass through to follow their shining track through the sky. She was so beautiful that Tithonus, who lived on the earth, always watched for the sunrise, that he might see Aurora. After a while she began to watch for him, too. She looked down every morning on the wakening world and found that he was almost the only one among mortals who enjoyed the glorious colors Apollo painted in the sky with his arrows of light. One morning she dared to sing to him, and then he answered that it was Aurora, and not Apollo, for whom he was watching each morning at sunrise. She loved him for this and became his wife.

"Being a goddess, she could live for ever, and she wanted Tithonus to live forever, too. The gods and goddesses never drink wine or water, but ambrosia from golden goblets. She brought a golden goblet of ambrosia to Tithonus on the earth, and, after he had taken a drink, told him the happy news that now he should live forever. But she had forgotten to ask of the gods for him the gift of eternal youth.

"For many years they loved each other dearly. Then Aurora saw that Tithonus was growing into a little old man.

"When he was one hundred years old he was shrunken to the size of a boy of ten.

"When he was two hundred years old he was no larger than a baby, only he was very lively, and could run as fast as a man.

"When he was three hundred years old Aurora could scarcely find him, save as his song told her where he was. With his head bent down to the ground he did not look like a man, and he made his home by the dusty roadside. But every sunrise he sat upon the tallest spear of grass he could find and chirped to Aurora as she opened the gates of dawn for Apollo. After years and years Aurora forgot all about the little gray grasshopper, but I don't think Tithonus has forgotten her, for he and all his grasshopper friends chirp the same song as when he first came to live among them."

"Poor old Tithonus!" said Bessie.

"Why, no," said her father; "mother said he could never die. Maybe it was Tithonus who gave you molasses to-day. Yes, perhaps that was ambrosia instead of molasses that the gray grasshopper dropped from his lips."

"Oh, don't tell any more!" laughed both Willie and Bessie. "We won't catch another grasshopper."

WHERE THE FROGS CAME FROM

_Roman_

You see the sun every bright day, don't you?

And you see the moon every moonshiny night.

Now, listen, and I'll tell you a story about their mother. No, not about their mother, but about the mother of the god of the sun, and of the goddess of the moon, whose names were Apollo and Diana.

It is about Apollo's and Diana's mother this story is to be.

Once when they were little twin babies their mother was in great trouble. She had to wander around and around, and get food and drink wherever she could find them.

One day she went to a pond for water, for the people in the houses were cross and would not give her any.

And just think of it! These people, careless about soiling their green coats and white vests, ran down to the pond ahead of her, jumped in and stirred the water so that it was black with mud.

And they called out, "Come and drink, Latona! Come and drink water, pure and sweet, Latona!"

This the cruel people did until Latona and her babies were so tired and thirsty they could wait no longer.

"Why do you abuse us?" she said; "you have plenty of water in your wells. Can you not see how these poor babies reach out their hands to you?"

But the rude people were jealous of the beautiful woman and her lovely twins, and only stirred the water till it was blacker, and cried the more, until they were fairly hoarse:

"Come and drink! Come and drink!"

Latona put her two babies down on the warm grass. Then she looked straight into the blue sky, and raising her hands said:

"May you never quit that pond in all your lives, neither you nor your children!"

The story is that Jupiter heard her, and that these cruel people never came out of the water again. They grew very small; their green coats and white vests turned into skin, and their children wear to-day the same kind of suits their parents wore that day they waded into the pool. Though they have the whole pond to themselves, they croak away until their mouths have grown wide and ugly, as mockingly as did their forefathers at Latona.

"Come and drink!" But who wants to drink out of a frog pond?

Little heathen boys, who believed this story, used to pelt frogs with stones, and there are some boys now who act just like those foolish little heathen.

THE BIRDS WITH ARROW FEATHERS

_Greek_

There is an old story that tells how a man named Jason went on a long journey in search of a golden fleece.

He fitted up a great boat, and the bravest and strongest men of his country offered to go with him.

They had no ships like ours, in those days, and when the sails were not filled with wind, every man took an oar, and, with twenty oars or more on each side, the boat was made to move through the waves very swiftly.

The heroes in Jason's boat had all won fame before they started out on this voyage, and many were already warm friends. There was the great Hercules, and Orpheus, the sweet singer; Castor, who could tame the wildest horses, and his twin brother Pollux, who was the greatest boxer the world has ever seen, or perhaps ever will see.

These and many others sat side by side in this boat, which Jason called the Argo. Many strange things happened to them on their voyage after the golden fleece. One was when they were attacked by birds. They saw many new countries also, and one day the Argo sailed by a very strange island where nearly all the people lived underground. These people never plowed their land with the strong oxen, nor planted seed, nor reaped harvests. They had no flocks of woolly sheep, nor herds of cattle.

All day long they worked away under the surface of the earth, digging and digging at great black stones they found there. Then they sold these stones or rocks to people in other countries, and so bought bread for themselves.

These people, with their black faces and grimy hands, left their work for a little while when someone told them of the beautiful boat that was in sight. They looked very strange to those in the ship, for no one in the land from which the Argo came worked under the ground. In that happy realm everyone lived in the sunshine and worked in the open fields. But after a while the Argo sailed away from this home of the underground people and on beyond. Suddenly the sky was darkened and great flocks of giant birds flew thick and fast above them. Then the wind changed and the frightened rowers had to take the oars.

The sky grew black as night. Down shot a feather from one of the birds. It struck one of the rowers on the left shoulder and he dropped his oar, for the pain was like a spear-thrust. Down sped another arrow feather, so pointed and sharp that another rower who was hit had to drop his oar. Thicker and faster came these arrow feathers upon the bare heads and naked shoulders of the men at the oars.

The best archers shot back at the birds with their sharpest-pointed arrows, but not a bird was harmed.

"What shall we do?" shouted the men still at the oars.

"You will never kill those birds," said one who had seen their feather arrows before. "All that you can do is to cover your heads and let us, who are too badly hurt for rowing, help cover your shoulders with our shields."

Then those at the oars put on their shining helmets; those who did not row held up the great war shields over them. The boat looked as if it had a roof. Down on the helmets came the feathers, so sharp that many of them made holes in the shining metal. Down on the shields they pelted, till it seemed as if the sky was raining drops of lead. The birds themselves came no nearer. But oh, their feather arrows were enough to frighten even these bravest of men.

The rowers worked as hard and as steadily as they could, and after a while they were out of reach of the terrible feathers.

The strange part of it all was that they never could find one of those sharp-pointed arrows with which the birds had shot them.

When the sun came out they were in a safe harbor. They looked and looked, but not a feather was to be found. One man declared that he knew the feathers were white.

"But the birds were black," said all the rest. "How could the arrows be white when even the sun was darkened by the black-winged creatures?"

How the dispute was settled I do not know, for the sharp-pointed feathers had melted all away, like hailstones from dark storm-clouds. It is certain, however, that the men never found any of the arrows with which they had been shot.

WHY THE PARTRIDGE STAYS NEAR THE GROUND

_Greek_

Daedalus was a skillful workman in many ways. One of the first things he did to make himself famous was to build a maze. It had so many winding walks and crooked paths that anyone who walked in ten steps without a guide never could get out unaided.

He built this maze for his king, but before many years he offended the king in some way and was locked up in a high tower. In the roof of the tower were hundreds of doves, and as they flew back and forth, Daedalus said:

"My king rules the land and the sea, but not the air. I will try that way of escape."

So he set to work to make wings for himself. He shaped two great frames and covered them with feathers. The largest plumes he sewed on with thread, and the smaller ones he fastened with wax.

Icarus, his son, stood and looked on, catching any of the feathers the wind tried to blow away. He troubled his father much, however, by taking the wax and making little balls, which he tossed about the room.

The keeper of the tower thought the wise man very silly to spend his time making blankets of feathers, Daedalus never let the keeper of the tower see how he curved and pointed the corners of his frames. The keeper told how foolish the wise man had grown from being shut up so long; how he spent his time gathering feathers to make great blankets. The people pitied him, not knowing that this very punishment was giving Daedalus another chance to make himself famous.

One dark night Daedalus fastened the broad wings to his shoulders, and jumping from the window found he could sail like a dove, but he could not carry his boy. Back he flew and, folding his wings, slipped into the window. Now he must make a pair for Icarus.

Soon this second pair was done, but the little fellow had to be taught like a young bird how to use them. Many a time if Daedalus had not caught him on his own great wings, Icarus would have gone tumbling heels over head, down, down to the foot of the tower.

Finally, Icarus, too, could sail like a pigeon, and if the night had not been so dark it would have been great fun to see these two new birds fly out of that tower window.

Keeping their wings so close to each other that they almost touched, they flew away over houses and fields. Before the sun came out, Daedalus told his boy to be careful to keep near him. "Don't fly too near the sun, for the heat will melt the wax, nor too low, for the damp will wet the feathers. Keep close to me."

When the morning dawned they saw the men plowing in the fields stop work to look at them. Shepherds left their flocks and ran miles to see where those strange birds were going. No one could tell who they were. It was grand to be so free and to fly so swiftly.

An eagle saw them and flew near. They felt the breeze from his powerful wings, and swifter went their own. The eagle, frightened, turned and mounted toward the sun. Icarus forgot his father's warning and followed. Daedalus flew on and on, thinking his boy was beside him. Up, up went Icarus swifter than the eagle and swept proudly past him toward the sun. The next instant he felt his wings loosen and droop.

Just then, Daedalus, who was miles away, turned his head, for he heard the boy call him.

"Icarus, Icarus, where are you?" his father shouted. There was no answer, but the mass of feathers in the blue sea below told the story. Flying down, Daedalus searched till he found the body, and, tenderly laying it in the earth he wept that he had ever thought of wings.

The land where this happened was wild, and only savage beasts lived in it, so Daedalus flew away to Sicily. There he built a temple and on its walls hung up his wings forever.

He became so proud of his own success that he believed no one else could invent anything. He was willing, though, to teach others all he knew, and sister, living near, sent her son, Perdix, to him to learn what he could.

This boy was quick to see, to hear, and to learn, and he could invent things himself.

One day when Daedalus was slowly cutting through a log with an ax, the boy showed him how much quicker he could do it with a saw he had made. No one had ever heard of a saw before, and Daedalus was angry.

"Who told you how to make this?" he asked.

"I brought home yesterday the backbone of a great fish cast up by the sea, and I made this like it, but of iron; that is all," said Perdix.

Another time Daedalus was trying to draw a perfect circle. Thirteen times he tried and failed.

"Take my irons, if you will not be angry with me," said Perdix, and he handed him a pair of compasses.

Here again was something no man had ever seen. But Daedalus, instead of being proud of his nephew, was angrier than before.

"You will be claiming that you are greater than Daedalus, who first sailed through the air, ungrateful boy," said his uncle.

"I have only tried to help you," answered Perdix.

Not long after this, when the two were in a tall building, Daedalus gave Perdix a push that sent him headlong toward the ground. The goddess Minerva, who loves learning, saw him falling and changed him into a partridge before he touched the earth. Unlike Daedalus, he has always kept his wings.

Perdix, the partridge, builds his nest low on the ground and stays in low branches. Perhaps he is afraid he may not be saved from another fall if he goes again into high places.

JUNO'S BIRD, THE PEACOCK

_Roman_

"Oh, isn't it a pity the peacock doesn't know that he can't sing? Why doesn't he stop that fearful screeching?"

Little Katie put her hands over her ears to keep out the sound.

"You know the peacock was once an animal that hasn't a very sweet voice," said Jack.

"No, I don't know, but Charlie Green's pet donkey makes a better noise than this bird. There, I am glad he has stopped."

"Shall I tell you a story?" asked Jack.

"Once upon a time a donkey felt that he was much abused just because his coat was rough and his face and shape were so homely; so he begged of Jupiter to make him into something beautiful. In a short time he was changed into a peacock and, looking down upon his fine feathers, began to sing. But, oh, the trouble he was in then! He had forgotten to have his voice changed, too, and it was the same old donkey voice that he had always had."

"That's a funny story, Jack. It seems to me that mother told us that a long time ago."

"Then I know another story of how the eyes came into the peacock's feathers."

"You are a queer boy, Jack. Those eyes were always there."

"Oh, no, they were not, Kate. You watch the young peacock chickens, and I'll prove my story, or part of it, anyway. Don't you remember that at first they are a dull brown, and then, when they are about a year old, they begin to show a little green? They are three years old before the eyes begin to show in the feathers. You are a queer girl to forget that."

"Well, tell your story, and I will see if it is a good one." So Jack began:

"Argus was a watchman. His great eyes were like green balls, but with fifty little eyes in each. Yes, he had a hundred eyes, and never more than two went to sleep at once. He could see even better in the night than in the daytime, so he was a fine watchman.

"Once Argus was told to watch a certain prisoner who could not be shut in a room, but had to be left in a field. Not once was he to lose sight of this prisoner. If he did, every one of his hundred eyes would be taken from him.

"Day and night Argus watched, never sleeping except with two eyes at a time. He was as faithful as fifty soldiers.

"But he loved music, and the friends of the prisoner knew it. So they sent some one to him who could play upon the harp and sing, thinking that perhaps Argus might be charmed to sleep.

"This player's name was Mercury, and he was so quick that some thought he wore wings on his feet. If he did wear them, he could take them off when he liked, for he was just a plain shepherd in a sheepskin coat and sheepskin sandals when Argus saw him.

"If he had come with a spear, or with bow and arrow, Argus would have been ready to keep him out, but Mercury was too bright for that.

"No, he was just a plain shepherd, and he sat down in a field near the one Argus was in, to watch his sheep. While he sat there, he played such sweet music that Argus said, 'Bring your sheep into my field and we will watch together.'

"That was just what Mercury had planned. So he was not very long in getting his sheep into the field with Argus. There the two lay in the shade of the trees and told stories, and Mercury played and watched the green eyes of Argus, while Argus watched the prisoner.

"One night Mercury played so softly, so sweetly, that for one minute every one of the hundred green eyes of Argus closed, the watchman nodded, and in that minute Mercury struck him on the neck and cut off his head. Then the prisoner was free. Juno took the green eyes of Argus and put them on her pet bird, the peacock."

"Oh, Jack, I don't believe a word of it."

"I don't, either," said Jack, "but these stories are both more than two thousand years old, and I shouldn't wonder if some one did believe them a long time ago."

THE GIFT OF THE OLIVE TREE

_Greek_

"Has everything a name, father?" asked a wide-awake boy one day.

"Everything I know of has a name," answered the father.

"What is the name of this stone, then?"

"The name of the stone you have just picked up happens to be granite."

"I believe you made that up, father, just because I asked you so quickly. Really is it granite? Has a rock a name?"

"Why, certainly, my boy. It seems strange that a boy of ten does not know granite when he sees it."

"But you lived in the country, father, when you were a boy, and I have been here hardly a month. Oh, here is another kind of stone; what is this?"

The father cracked the bit of rock so as to get a fresh surface and then answered:

"Common white quartz, Harold. You are giving me easy specimens, which is lucky for both of us."

"Why, father, where did you learn all their names?"

"I don't know all their names. I know only the most common ones. To find the names of some kinds of rock or stone I should need quite an outfit, such as you may have seen in the high-school laboratory."

"Do all the flowers have names, too, father?"

"Harold, if you could find a flower that has not been named you would become quite famous. The flower probably would be named after you. Think of that! There is something to work for; and you were wishing only last night that you could be a famous man."

"Where did all the flowers get their names? Did the teachers name them?"

"Oh, I suspect the teachers named some, and many people helped them. I don't believe I ever stopped to think that it is curious that everything on the earth and in the sea and in the sky is named. You are a very thoughtful boy, Harold. Ask all the questions you please."

This praise from his quiet father made Harold happier than anything in the world. He was silent a moment, but then asked:

"Have the stars names, too, father? I mean all of them. I know those large ones have, for you told me."

"Yes, Harold, every star has a name of some kind. Some of them have only a letter or a number. But that answers for a name, you know."

"And all the animals, and all the birds, and all the beetles, and all the--everything! I'll have to go to school just all my life!"

And then Mr. Hadley laughed aloud.

"To-day, father, in the geography class, I learned about many cities, and there are more in the large geography. Do you know how any of the cities got their names?"

"What country were you studying about to-day, Harold?"

"It was about Greece, and some of the cities had such long hard names that I can't remember them. Oh, yes, now I remember Athens. Why, father, you were there once, for I have heard you tell about Greece; and one of the pictures in the parlor is named 'In Athens.' Do tell me something about the place, for I can't make it seem like a real city like New York or Chicago."

"Do you like olives, Harold?"

"Yes, indeed, I do, and you like olive oil. Oh, of course, olives grow in Greece. I couldn't think what made you ask such a queer question. Now tell me about Greece, won't you, please? Is it a beautiful country?"

"Yes, and I'll tell you a tale of the sea, of olives, and of Athens, all in one. You remember that beautiful head of Minerva, which is near my book-shelf, do you not? Minerva has another name. She is often called Athena. She was known to the ancient people of Greece as the goddess of wisdom and learning. Can you remember the name of the king of the sea?"

"Neptune, father. You have his picture, too, haven't you?"

"Yes, Harold, but now you must learn the name by which the Greeks called him. It was Poseidon. The story goes that Athena and Poseidon were each very anxious to name a certain city in Greece.

"Jupiter said that he would let the one who brought the greatest gift to the people have the honor of naming the place. And then such strife began as you can hardly imagine. Poseidon put his wits at work and called together all his friends for counsel. At last his gift was ready for the day on which they were to appear before Jupiter.

"Minerva, as she was the goddess of wisdom, needed no such help as Poseidon had asked and received. Her plans were ready in a moment and she was waiting for the great day.

"When that day came all the people of the nameless city gathered together to see what was to be brought them. As they were seated on the side of mountain, on the top of which stood Jupiter, King Poseidon appeared on the plain before them, leading a wonderful black horse. It was covered with gold armor. It pawed the ground and stamped with its hoofs, and looked like the leader of a grand army. The people shouted and would have declared for Poseidon without waiting for his rival, but Jupiter quieted them.

"Then the goddess came forward on the plain. She was beautiful, tall, stately. She seemed to be holding something very small in her hand. She opened her hand before the people and commanded a gardener to dig a hole in the earth at her feet. Into this hole she dropped the small something which was in her hand. As soon as the earth was over it, tiny leaves came out. Then it grew instantly into a tree covered with silver-gray leaves. Its trunk grew larger and larger. It seemed to touch the skies It was filled with fruit. She showed them how to extract the oil. She showed them how to use the fruit.

"The horse neighed and pawed, and Poseidon laughed at the woman's gift. 'Here is war, glory, and power!' he cried.

"'Here is life, peace, and plenty!' said the goddess.

"'The city shall be named Athena' came from Jupiter on the mountain top.

"And so the city of Athens was named and the people loved Athena for her gift of the olive tree."

THE LINDEN AND THE OAK

_Greek_

Two grand trees stood on a hill near a lake. One was an oak with wide branches. The other was a linden.

"Man and wife," the people called them, and when asked why, said, "Because it is true. Once they could walk around and talk. Now they stand there side by side forever. But you can hear them whisper to each other sometimes."

And if asked, "Who were they?" even the little children would say, "Why, Philemon and Baucis."

Many children had these names in those days, and knew the story of the two trees well, for there were none like them anywhere else in the land.

It was said that these two people who lived in such strange form were once a poor old couple, and their home was a wretched house in the valley. Simple, honest, and quiet, they had little to do with their bustling neighbors.

One evening two strangers walked into the village, and stopping at the first house to ask for food, were sent away in a hurry.

"We work for a living and have nothing for those who don't. Go away."

They were told the same at the next house, and at the next, all down the street. Tired and hungry, they neared the cottage where Philemon and Baucis lived.

"I will try here," said the shorter of the two strangers. The other was silent.

But before they reached the door, Philemon came to meet them. And Baucis placed the best chairs for them as they entered, first spreading over the chairs pieces of cloth she had woven.

"You are hungry," she said, and she went to the fire-place and uncovered the few coals she had saved in the ashes for her morning fire. On these she put sticks and dry bark, and with all her little strength, blew hard on them, and the fire began to burn.

On a hook over the fire she hung a small iron kettle, and getting ready the beans her husband had brought in from their little garden, she put them in to stew. All this she did eagerly, as if the strangers were invited friends. While his wife set the table, Philemon brought a bowl of water for the guests to bathe their hands. As one leg of the table was too short, Baucis put a flat shell under to make it level with the rest. Tired and trembling, she set out a few rude dishes. They were her best. She added the pitcher of milk Philemon had bought for their own meal, and when the beans were cooked, everything was ready. For dessert, she had apples and wild honey.

Drawing a bench to the table, she laid on it a thin cushion made soft with dried seaweed, and then called the strangers. The smiles and gentle welcome of the two old people made the meal seem like a feast.

The strangers were very thirsty, but each time Baucis poured out a cup of milk the pitcher filled again.

"You are people from the skies, and not men!" the old couple cried, and fell on their knees and begged the strangers to forgive them for their poor meal.

"Why did you come to us? Others could have done so much better."

"You have done the best you could; who could do better than that?" said the tall one. "Come with us," and he led them to the top of the hill.

Then he stretched out his hand toward the village, and they saw it sink down, down out of sight, and the river came rushing in, and the place was a lake. Nothing could be seen but the house they had just left. It stood on the shore of the lake. Its timbers were growing higher and higher, and the yellow straw that thatched the roof changed to shining gold. It was now a beautiful temple.

"Ask of me anything you wish and I will give it to you," said the tall one.

"I know now you are Jupiter," said Philemon. "Let us take care of your temple while we live, and when it is time for us to leave it let us go together. Let not one be taken and the other left."

Philemon and Baucis cared for the beautiful temple for years. Feeling old and weary, they went to the top of the hill one day to say good-by to all things. As they stood there they saw each other change, one into this oak and the other into this linden.

"Good-by," they said together, as the bark grew up over their lips.

No tree has so strong and true a heart as the oak, and in the leafy linden hundreds of birds sing and are happy.

THE LITTLE MAIDEN WHO BECAME A LAUREL TREE

_Greek_

Cupid was a beautiful little boy. Between the wings on his shoulders he always carried a quiver full of tiny arrows. Bow in hand, he started out every morning ready, like any boy, for mischief. One day he came to drink from a fountain with some thirsty doves who were his friends.

Apollo saw the little fellow and, to tease him, asked:

"What do you carry arrows for, saucy boy? It is for great gods like myself to do that. My arrow shot the terrible python, the serpent of darkness. What can _you_ do?"

"Apollo may hit serpents, but I will hit Apollo," said Cupid, and taking out two tiny arrows, one of gold and one of lead, he touched their points together and then shot the golden one straight into Apollo.

Quick as a flash of Apollo's sun-crown, Cupid shot the other, the leaden one, into a river cloud he saw floating by. In it he knew Daphne, the daughter of the river, was hidden. The leaden arrow hit her true, but she drifted away on the swift breeze.

Apollo, the sun-god, can see through everything except fog and mist, but as Daphne fled he caught one glimpse of her face, and Cupid laughed to see how his arrow did its work. His arrows never kill; sometimes, indeed, they make life happier. Apollo now loved Daphne more than anything else on earth. Daphne was more afraid of him than of anything else in the sky.

On flew Daphne, hoping her misty cloud would hide her till she could reach her river home. On flew Apollo, begging her to stop for fear his arrows might hurt her. His great arrows of sunlight must do their work even if his friends should perish by them.

As they neared the river he saw her face again. She sank on the river bank. She was faint and he would comfort her but she cried to her father, the river, "O father, help!" The earth opened, and before Apollo could reach her he saw her waving hair change into glistening leaves. Her arms became branches. Her skin changed to dainty bark, and her face to a tree-top whose pink flowers show, even yet, the beauty of Daphne's cheek. Apollo reached out and gathered the leaves and made them into a crown.

"This tree shall be called laurel, and it shall be mine," he said. "I cannot grow old and the leaves of this tree shall be always green. Daphne has won the race against Apollo, the wreath of these leaves shall be her gift and mine to the bravest in every race. Kings and captains shall be proud to wear it."

Apollo hid his face for days behind dark clouds. Heavy rains fell. The immortal gods cannot weep, but these great drops seemed like tears for lost Daphne.

Even saucy Cupid mourned, and he did not dare go out till the storms were over, for fear Apollo's grief would spoil his wings.

In cold northern lands you can find Daphne's tree in greenhouses among the roses and lilies. And if you ask for Daphne, the gardener will point her out, for he calls the tree by her name.

THE LESSON OF THE LEAVES

_Roman_

In a cave by the seashore lived an old, old woman. This very old woman was also very wise.

She remembered everything that had ever happened and she knew almost everything that was going to happen in her country.

She lived in Italy and was called the Sibyl.

One day a man named Aeneas came to her cave to question her. She was very kind to him. She even took him far down into the center of the earth, Pluto's kingdom, to see those whom Pluto had carried away.

When they came back, Aeneas said he would build a temple to her and have gifts brought to her. She had so much power and was so wise he felt sure she must be more than mortal. But she would not let Aeneas build the temple. Instead she told him her story. It was this:

"Apollo saw me when I was young, and told me to ask him for any gift I would have. We were standing on the seashore. I stooped down and filled my hand with the white sand at our feet.

"'Give me as many birthdays as there are grains of sand in my hand, O Apollo!' I said.

"'It is granted,' said Apollo. But, in my foolishness, I forgot to ask for everlasting youth.

"When one hundred grains of sand had slipped away from the glass in which I placed them all, I was old. My youth was gone.

"Seven hundred grains have slipped through now. I have counted the rest. I shall yet see three hundred springs and three hundred harvests; then the Sibyl will be no more. My body has shriveled. Soon I shall be only a warning voice to the children of men, but I shall live till the grains are gone from that glade. While my voice lasts men will respect my sayings. As long as I live, I will strive to help the human race."

Aeneas went with her into the cave. The leaves were thick on the floor. The Sibyl picked them up and wrote with an eagle's quill on each.

She let him read as many as he wished. He found some of them were warnings to his friends. Some were for people he had never seen. The Sibyl placed them in rows on the ledges of rock inside the cavern.

A fierce wind blew into the cave and carried the written leaves away.

"Save them, O Sibyl!" cried Aeneas.

"My work is to write, Aeneas. I am no man's slave. If he wishes his leaf, he must come for it before the wind takes it away. There are thousands of leaves not written upon yet. But no man may have a second leaf. He must be here on time."

"One leaf, one life!" said Aeneas. "I see your meaning, O Sibyl, and go about my work. My ship shall sail to-day. Each day shall bring me nearer my journey's end, and when I reach my home the leaves on my forest trees shall teach me your lesson over again. I will rise early each day and be the first in all things. Even the winds shall not be quicker than I am in the work it is my duty to do. Farewell."

Here is another story which is told of the Sibyl. It shows that she could write on something beside leaves.

She appeared one day at the king's palace gate with a heavy burden on her back. The keeper let her in.

With a guard on either side the Sibyl was shown into the presence of the king.

The burden proved to be nine large books closely written. She offered them for sale at an enormous price. The king refused to pay it. The Sibyl only smiled and threw three of the books into the open fire. The king had wished to own those three, for he knew that future events were written in them.

"I have now six books and the price is the same as for the nine. Does the king want them?" The king hesitated. While he was thinking what to do, the little old woman threw three more into the fire.

"I have now three books and the price is the same as for the nine. Does the king want them?" And the king said, "Yes," without a minute's waiting, and took the books.

The little old woman vanished. Her thousand years were nearly gone, but her voice was still heard when people visited her cave.

The king searched the three books and found that all things concerning his city, Rome, were foretold in them for hundreds of years. Perhaps many wars and troubles would have been saved if he had bought all the books instead of only three.

It is usually best to decide a matter quickly when one knows that nothing can be gained by waiting.

THE LEGEND OF THE SEED

_Greek_

Once upon a time the earth was so very young and the people upon it so pure and good that they could hear the morning stars as they sang together. It was during the Golden Age, as it is now called, that one morning in the early springtime a little group of girls were playing together and gathering wild flowers.

One of these girls was named Proserpina. She was the merriest of them all, though her dress was of the plainest brown. Her little feet danced everywhere and her little fingers seemed to touch the flowers as lightly as the butterfly that flitted by her.

Carelessly she danced close to a great opening in the ground. Looking down she saw a yellow daffodil growing on the edge. Leaning over to pick it, she felt herself caught by her dress, and the next minute found herself sailing far down into the earth through the great crevice. She was in a chariot drawn by black horses, which were driven by a driver who seemed to be both deaf and dumb. He neither answered when she pleaded with him to take her back, nor even seemed to hear her.

The girls who were left gathering wild flowers had missed Proserpina almost the moment she was out of sight, but no one knew what had happened.

"Come back! come back!" the girls called, but no answer came up from the great opening or from the forest near them. Only Echo marked their cry of "Proserpina, oh, Proserpina, come back!" "She has vanished," the girls whispered. "I always felt as though she had wings beneath that plain brown dress she wore," said one.

"But who can tell Queen Ceres, her mother?" they asked one another.

No one could go alone, so they all went together to Queen Ceres and told her what had happened.

The good queen wept bitterly. That day she laid aside her regal robes and began her search for Proserpina. Up and down the world went this royal mother seeking for her lost daughter. At last she came to the land of King Celeus. When Ceres reached his land she was so ragged and poor that she was glad to earn money by taking care of the king's baby son. As nurse to the little prince, Queen Ceres was almost comforted.

Because she was the goddess of the wheat and the fruits, the crops upon the land of King Celeus, while she was there, were very wonderful. In the land near Mount Aetna, where Proserpina had been lost, no rain fell and no corn nor apples grew.

Juno sent Iris down to earth to beg of Ceres to give rain to the suffering people of her own home. Ceres said no rain should fall till Proserpina came back to her mother. One day as Ceres was weeping by a fountain her tears fell into the springing water, and, as they did so, she heard a silvery voice:

"Why do you grieve, Queen Ceres?" said the water sprite or nymph.

"Proserpina, my beautiful daughter, is gone from me," said Ceres. "I have sought everywhere on the earth for her. I cannot find my daughter."

"Listen to me," said the voice from the fountain. "I have seen her. She is not on the earth; she is in the earth. She is in the palace of King Pluto, who rules below. I saw her as I ran with a river through Pluto's kingdom. She longs to come back to you."

Queen Ceres was like a stone for a time after she heard the story told by the murmuring waters of the fountain.

Proserpina alive and longing for her! It did not seem true, but she would know soon. Taking back the little prince to his mother, she hid herself in a forest, called for her chariot, and, when it came, drove straight to the top of Mount Olympus, where Jupiter sat on his shining throne.

She begged of him to command his brother Pluto to return her daughter to her.

"It is granted on one condition; that is, that Proserpina has never tasted food nor drink since she has been beneath the earth."

Mercury, the wing-footed messenger, and Flora, the goddess of Spring, sought the center of the earth to bring back Proserpina to Ceres.

Pluto loved his stolen prize as much as Queen Ceres did; and, being unhappy because she refused to eat, succeeded at last in making her taste one of the beautiful pomegranates that are both food and drink.

Even while she was tasting it Mercury and Flora stood at Pluto's gate with the command to return her to Ceres. What was to be done? Mercury, quick-witted as well as quick-footed, decided that if she dwelt with Ceres for half the year and with Pluto the other half, Jupiter's commands would be satisfied. This proved to be as Jupiter wished.

So, arrayed in shining green, Proserpina swiftly set out with Flora and Mercury to find Queen Ceres. Ceres saw her the minute her bright head appeared above the brown earth and knew her through her disguise. You remember when Proserpina was taken she wore a plain brown suit.

They lived together, the mother and daughter, through the bright spring days and the warm summer weather. When autumn came Proserpina donned her brown suit again and Pluto claimed her. There, in his underground realm, she reigns all the cold winter months. She is happy now because Queen Ceres is happy. The mother knows that when spring breathes over the earth again Proserpina will come back to her.

Can you guess who Proserpina is? You have seen her a thousand times. Yes, and when you see her next you will say how strange that the Greeks could tell such a story of only a little brown seed.

THE GIRL WHO WAS CHANGED INTO A SUNFLOWER

_Greek_

Years ago there was a beautiful girl who lived near a large garden. This girl's name was Clytie. She had wonderful golden hair and big brown eyes, and she was tall and slender.

Clytie stood in this large garden one day, watching her pet doves as they flew about in the sky, when she caught a glimpse of the sun chariot of Apollo. She even had a glimpse of Apollo himself, as he guided his wonderful horses along their course, which was the circle of the heavens. There were many fleecy clouds in the sky, and one had veiled the burning sunlight from the eyes of Clytie, or she would never have been able to see the sight, which only the eyes of Jupiter's eagle may endure and not become blind.

After this the foolish girl went every day into the garden and, staring up into the sky, tried to see Apollo once more. Every day for more than thirty days she went into the garden. Her mother often told her that she would make Apollo angry, for he shines brightly so as to hide himself from people on the earth.

"Clytie! Clytie!" her mother would call, "come in and take your sewing."

But Clytie never would obey. Sometimes she would answer:

"Oh, mother, let me stay. He was so beautiful. I have no heart for work."

Apollo saw the foolish girl day after day and he became out of patience with her.

"Mortal maidens must obey their mothers," he said, and a burning sun-arrow fell on Clytie's bright head.

Such a strange change came upon Clytie from that moment. Her brown eyes grew larger. Her golden hair stood straight out around them, and her pretty clothing changed into great heart-shaped leaves which clung to a stiff stalk. Her feet grew firmly into the ground, and the ten little toes changed into ten strong roots that went creeping everywhere for water.

When Clytie's mother called again no answer came and she found, in going into the garden, a flower in place of her child.

And now Clytie always stares at the sun all day long. In the morning her face is toward the east, and at night it is toward the west.

Did you ever think that the sunflower was once a lovely girl?

WHY THE NARCISSUS GROWS BY THE WATER

_Greek_

Down in the heart of the woods there was a clear spring with water like silver. No shepherds ever brought their flocks there to drink, no lions nor other wild beasts came in the night time. No leaves nor branches fell into it, but the green grass grew around it all the year, and the rocks kept it from the sun.

One day a boy hunter found it, and, being thirsty, he stooped down to drink. As he bent he saw, for the first time in his life, his own fair face, and did not know who it was.

He thought it must be a water fairy, and he put his lips to the water, but as soon as their touch disturbed the surface, away went the shadow-face from out of his sight.

"Nothing has escaped me yet, and here I shall stay till this curly-haired creature comes out of the water," he said. "See its shining eyes and smiling mouth!"

He forgot his hunt, he forgot everything but to watch for this water sprite. When the moon and stars came out, there it was just the same as in the sunshine, and so he lingered from day to night and from night to day.

He saw the face in the water grow thinner day by day, but never thought of himself. At last he was too weak to watch any longer. His face was as white as the whitest lily, and his yellow hair fell over his hollow cheeks. With a sigh his breath floated away, his head dropped on the green grass, and there was no longer any face in the water.

The fairies came out of the woods and would have covered him with earth, but, looking for him, they found nothing but a lovely flower, gazing with bended head into the silver spring, just as the boy hunter had done.

The fairies told the story to a little child, and she told it to her father and mother. When they found this spring in the heart of the woods they called the flower growing beside it Narcissus, after the boy hunter who had perished watching his own face in the silver water.

THE LEGEND OF THE ANEMONE

_Greek_

Just see the basketful of anemones we got down in the glen! They were as thick there as they could be. We picked and picked and it didn't seem to make a bit of difference, there were so many left. Aren't they lovely?"

"They are dainty little flowers, boys. Where did you say you found them?"

"On the low land in the glen by the brook. There were great trees on both sides of the glen, and it was so still the little brook and the waterfall sounded as loud as a big river. How we wished you were there!"

"What else did you find besides the windflowers, or anemones, boys?"

"Here's a little moss and a few blood-root flowers, and Will Johnson carried home a big bouquet of wild bleeding-hearts."

"That makes me think, Charlie, of a myth there is about the first anemones."

"A myth? What is that, mother? Oh, I know, John," said Charlie; "it is one of those stories that people used to believe just as we used to believe in Santa Claus. He's a myth, you know, and now you please keep still and maybe mother has time to tell us about the first anemones. I like myths."

"This is a hunting story, so I know you will like it, boys.

"But just think of hunting with bow and arrows and spears! Would you like that?"

"Yes, yes!" shouted both the boys.

"Well, years ago in the Golden Age when the world was young there lived a Greek hunter whose name was Adonis. He was tall and straight and handsome. His friends thought it a great pity that he should spend his time in the woods, with only his dogs for company. Away he would go day after day with his arrows at his back and his spear at his side. His dogs were fierce and would attack any creature. His horse was as brave as he. His friends begged him to wait till he was older and stronger before he went into the deep forests, but he never waited. He had killed bears, wolves, and lions. Why should he wait?

"But the wild hog is fiercer than the tiger. One spring morning while hunting in the forest, Adonis wounded two. Leaving his dogs to worry one while he killed the other, he got off his horse, and, running, threw his spear at the hog. Its thick hide was tough and the spear fell to the ground. He drew out an arrow, but before he could place it in the bow, the ugly beast had caught him with its horrid tusks.

"He tore away and, bleeding at every step, bounded down a hillside toward a brook to bathe his wounds. But the savage beast reached it as soon as he. A flock of white swans that had been drinking from the brook, rose on their strong wings and, flying straight to their mistress, Venus, told the story.

"Back they brought her in her silver chariot, sailing so steadily that, from the silver cup of nectar she brought with her, not a drop was spilled.

"'Adonis! Adonis!' cried Venus.

"There was nothing but drops of blood on the grass to tell her where he had been. It was all that was left of the handsome hunter.