Chapter VII: Hephaestus. Apollo

_Heph_. Have you seen Maia's baby, Apollo? such a pretty little thing, with a smile for everybody; you can see it is going to be a treasure.

_Ap_. That baby a treasure? well, in mischief, Iapetus is young beside it.

_Heph_. Why, what harm can it do, only just born?

_Ap_. Ask Posidon; it stole his trident. Ask Ares; he was surprised to find his sword gone out of the scabbard. Not to mention myself, disarmed of bow and arrows.

_Heph_. Never! that infant? he has hardly found his legs yet; he is not out of his baby-linen.

_Ap_. Ah, you will find out, Hephaestus, if he gets within reach of you.

_Heph_. He has been.

_Ap_. Well? all your tools safe? none missing?

_Heph_. Of course not.

_Ap_. I advise you to make sure.

_Heph_. Zeus! where are my pincers?

_Ap_. Ah, you will find them among the baby-linen.

_Heph_. So light-fingered? one would swear he had practised petty larceny in the womb.

_Ap_. Ah, and you don't know what a glib young chatterbox he is; and, if he has his way, he is to be our errand-boy! Yesterday he challenged Eros—tripped up his heels somehow, and had him on his back in a twinkling; before the applause was over, he had taken the opportunity of a congratulatory hug from Aphrodite to steal her girdle; Zeus had not done laughing before—the sceptre was gone. If the thunderbolt had not been too heavy, and very hot, he would have made away with that too.

_Heph_. The child has some spirit in him, by your account.

_Ap_. Spirit, yes—and some music, moreover, young as he is.

_Heph_. How can you tell that?

_Ap_. He picked up a dead tortoise somewhere or other, and contrived an instrument with it. He fitted horns to it, with a cross-bar, stuck in pegs, inserted a bridge, and played a sweet tuneful thing that made an old harper like me quite envious. Even at night, Maia was saying, he does not stay in Heaven; he goes down poking his nose into Hades—on a thieves' errand, no doubt. Then he has a pair of wings, and he has made himself a magic wand, which he uses for marshalling souls—convoying the dead to their place.

_Heph_. Ah, I gave him that, for a toy.

_Ap_. And by way of payment he stole—

_Heph_. Well thought on; I must go and get them; you may be right about the baby-linen.

H.

VIII _Hephaestus. Zeus_

_Heph_. What are your orders, Zeus? You sent for me, and here I am; with such an edge to my axe as would cleave a stone at one blow.

_Zeus_. Ah; that's right, Hephaestus. Just split my head in half, will you?

_Heph_. You think I am mad, perhaps?—Seriously, now, what can I do for you?

_Zeus_. What I say: crack my skull. Any insubordination, now, and you shall taste my resentment; it will not be the first time. Come, a good lusty stroke, and quick about it. I am in the pangs of travail; my brain is in a whirl.

_Heph_. Mind you, the consequences may be serious: the axe is sharp, and will prove but a rough midwife.

_Zeus_. Hew away, and fear nothing. I know what I am about.

_Heph_. H'm. I don't like it: however, one must obey orders…. Why, what have we here? A maiden in full armour! This is no joke, Zeus. You might well be waspish, with this great girl growing up beneath your _pia mater_; in armour, too! You have been carrying a regular barracks on your shoulders all this time. So active too! See, she is dancing a war-dance, with shield and spear in full swing. She is like one inspired; and (what is more to the point) she is extremely pretty, and has come to marriageable years in these few minutes; those grey eyes, even, look well beneath a helmet. Zeus, I claim her as the fee for my midwifery.

_Zeus_. Impossible! She is determined to remain a maid for ever. Not that _I_ have any objection, personally.

_Heph_. That is all I want. You can leave the rest to me. I'll carry her off this moment.

_Zeus_. Well, if you think it so easy. But I am sure it is a hopeless case.

F.