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THE SPARTAN TWINS
By Lucy Fitch Perkins
1918
CONTENTS
LIST OF CHARACTERS
I. COMPANY AT THE FARM
II. THE STRANGER'S STORY
III. THE SHEPHERDS
IV. SOWING AND REAPING
V. THE TWINS GO TO ATHENS
VI. THE FESTIVAL OF ATHENA
VII. HOME AGAIN
THE SPARTAN TWINS
_The Characters in this Story are_:--
MELAS, a Spartan living on the Island of Salamis, just off the coast of
Greece. He is Overseer on the Farm of Pericles, Archon of Athens.
LYDIA, Wife of Melas, and Mother of Dion and Daphne.
DION and DAPHNE, Twin Son and Daughter of Melas and Lydia.
CHLOE, a young slave girl, belonging to Melas and Lydia. She had been
abandoned by her parents when she was a baby, and left by the roadside to
die of neglect or be picked up by some passer-by. She was found by Lydia
and brought up in her household as a slave.
ANAXAGORAS, "the Stranger," a Philosopher,--friend of Pericles.
PERICLES, Chief Archon of Athens.
LAMPON, a Priest.
A Priest of the Erechtheum.
DROMAS, LYCIAS, and Others, Slaves on the Farm of Pericles.
Time: About the middle of the Fifth Century B.C.
[Illustration: Plan of home of the Spartan Twins]
I
COMPANY AT THE FARM
One lovely spring morning long years ago in Hellas, Lydia, wife of
Melas the Spartan, sat upon a stool in the court of her house, with her
wool-basket beside her, spinning. She was a tall, strong-looking young
woman with golden hair and blue eyes, and as she twirled her distaff and
twisted the white wool between her fingers she sang a little song to
herself that sounded like the humming of bees in a garden.
The little court of the house where she sat was open to the sky, and the
afternoon sun came pouring over the wall which surrounded it, and made a
brilliant patch of light upon the earthen floor. The little stones which
were embedded in the earth to form a sort of pavement glistened in the
sun and seemed to play at hide and seek with the moving shadow of Lydia's
distaff as she spun. On the thatch which covered the arcade around
three sides of the court pigeons crooned and preened their feathers, and
from a room in the second story of the house, which opened upon a little
gallery enclosing the fourth side of the court, came the _clack clack_ of
a loom.
As she spun, the shadow of Lydia's distaff grew longer and longer across
the floor until at last the sunlight disappeared behind the wall, leaving
the whole court in gray shadow.
Under the gallery a large room opened into the court. The embers of a
fire glowed dully upon a stone hearth in the center of this room, and
beyond, through an open door, fowls could be seen wandering about the
farm-yard. Suddenly the quiet of the late afternoon was broken by a
medley of sounds. There were the bleating of sheep, and the tinkle of
their bells, the lowing of cattle and the barking of a dog, the soft
patter of bare feet and the voices of children.
Then there was a sudden squawking among the hens in the farm-yard,
and through the back door, past the glowing hearth and into the court,
rushed two children, followed by a huge shepherd dog. The children were
blue-eyed and golden-haired, like their Mother, and looked so big and
strong that they might easily have passed for twelve years of age, though
they really were but ten. They were so exactly alike that their Mother
herself could hardly tell which was Dion and which was Daphne, and, as
for their Father, he didn't even try. He simply said whichever name came
first to his lips, feeling quite sure that the children would always be
able to tell themselves apart, at any rate. Daphne, to be sure, wore
her chiton a little longer than Dion wore his, but when they were running
or playing games she often pulled it up shorter through her girdle, so
even that was not a sure sign.
Lydia looked from one of them to the other as the children came bounding
into the court, with Argos, the dog, barking and leaping about them, and
smiled with pride.
"Where have you been, you wild creatures?" she said to the twins, "I
haven't seen you since noon," and "Down, Argos, down," she cried to the
dog, who had put his great paws in her lap and was trying to kiss her on
the nose.
"We've been down in the field by the spring with Father," Dion shouted,
"and Father is bringing a man home to supper!"
"Company!" gasped Lydia, throwing up her hands. "Whoever can it be at
this time of the day and in such an out of the way place as this? And
nothing but black broth ready for supper! I might have had a roast
fowl at least if only I had known. Where are they now?"
"They are coming down the road," said Dion. "They stopped to see the
sheep and cattle driven into the farm-yard. They'll be here soon."
Lydia thrust her distaff into the wool-basket by her side and rose
hastily from her stool. "There's no time to lose," she said. "The
Stranger will not wish to linger here if he expects to reach Ambelaca
to-night. It is a good two miles to the village, and he'll not find a
boat crossing to the mainland after dark. I am sure of that,
unlessperhaps he has one waiting for him there."
As she spoke, Lydia drew her skirt shorter through her girdle and started
for the hearth-fire in the room beyond. "Shoo," she cried to the hens,
which had followed the children into the house and were searching
hopefully for something to eat among the ashes, "you'll burn your toes as
like as not! Begone, unless you want to be put at once into the pot! Go
for them, Argos! Dion, you feed them. They'll be under foot until they've
had their supper, and it's time they were on the roost this minute!
Daphne, your face is dirty; go wash it, while I get the fire started and
see if I can't find something to eat more fitting to set before a guest."
While the children ran to carry out their Mother's orders, Lydia herself
seized the bellows and blew upon the embers of the fire. "By all the
Gods!" she cried, "there's not a stick of wood in the house." She dropped
the bellows and ran into the court. From the room above still came the
_clack clack_ of the loom. Lydia looked up at the gallery of the second
story and clapped her hands.
"Chloe, Chloe," she called. The clacking suddenly stopped, and a young
girl with black hair and eyes and red cheeks came out of the upper room
and leaned over the balcony rail.
"Did you want me?" she asked.
"Indeed I want you!" answered her mistress. "Company is coming to supper
and there is nothing in the house fit to set before him! Hurry and bring
some wood. There's not even a fire!"
There was a sound of hasty footsteps on the stair, and Chloe disappeared
into the farm-yard. In a moment she was back again with a basket of wood,
which she placed beside the hearth. Lydia knelt on the floor and laid the
wood upon the coals. Then she blew upon them energetically with the
bellows. Chloe knelt beside her and blew too, but not with bellows. The
ashes flew in every direction.
"Mercy!" cried Lydia, "you've a breath like the blasts of winter! You
will blow the sparks clear across the court and set fire to the thatch if
you keep on! Come! Get out the oven and start a charcoal fire! We can
bake barley-cakes, at least, and there are sausages in the store-room.
See if there is fresh water in the water-jar."
"There isn't a drop, I know," said Daphne. "I took the last to wash my
face."
"Was there ever anything like it?" cried Lydia. "Fresh water first of
all! Run at once to the spring, Chloe. I '11 get the oven myself. Daphne,
you take the small water-jar and go with Chloe."
As Chloe and Daphne, with their water-jars on their shoulders, started
out of the back door for the spring, the door at the front of the court
opened, and Melas entered with a tall, bearded man wearing a long cloak.
The moment she heard the door move on its hinges, Lydia stood up straight
and tall beside her hearth-fire, and, at a sign from her husband, came
forward to greet the Stranger.
"You are welcome," she said, "to such entertainment as our plain house
affords. I could wish it were better for your sake."
"I shall be honored by your hospitality," said the Stranger politely,
"and what is good enough for a farmer is surely good enough for a
philosopher, if I may call myself one."
"Though you are a philosopher, you are also, no doubt, an Athenian,"
replied Lydia, "and it is known to all the world that the feast of the
Spartan is but common fare for those who live delicately as the Athenians
do."
"I bring an appetite that would make a feast of bread alone," answered
the Stranger.
Melas, a tall brown-faced man with a brown beard, now spoke for the first
time.
"There is no haste, wife," he said. "The Stranger will spend the night
under our roof. It is not yet late. While you get supper, we will rest
beneath the olive trees and watch the sun go down behind the hills."
"Until I can better serve you, then," Lydia replied; and the two men went
out again through the open door, and sat down upon a wooden bench which
commanded a view of the little valley and the hills beyond.
Meanwhile, within doors, Lydia dropped the stately dignity of her company
manners and became once more the busy housewife. When Chloe and Daphne
returned from the spring, she had barley-cakes baking in the oven, and
sausages were roasting before the hearth-fire. A kettle of broth steamed
beside it.
"How good it smells!" cried Dion, when he came in with Argos from the
farm-yard. "I could eat a whole pig myself. Do cook a lot of sausages,
Mother. I am as hungry as a wolf."
"And you a Spartan boy!" said his Mother reprovingly. "You should think
less of what you put in your stomach! Plain fare makes the strongest men.
It is only polite to give a guest the best you have, but that's no excuse
for being greedy and wanting to stuff yourself every day."
"Well, then," said Dion, "I wish Hermes, if he is the god who guides
travelers, would bring them this way oftener. I'd like to be a strong
man, but I like good things to eat, too, and when we have company, we
have a feast."
His Mother did not answer him; she was too busy.
She sent Chloe to the closet for a jar of wine, and some goat's-milk
cheese, and she herself went upstairs to get some dried figs from the
store-room. Daphne followed Chloe to the closet, and for a moment there
was no one beside the hearth-fire but Dion and Argos, and the sausages
smelled very good indeed.
"I wonder if she counted them," thought Dion to himself, as he looked
longingly at them. And then almost before he knew it himself he had
snatched one of the sausages from the fire and had bitten a piece off the
end! It was so very hot that it burned both his fingers and his tongue
like everything, and when he tried to lick his fingers, he let go of the
sausage, and Argos snapped it up and swallowed it whole. It burned all
the way down to his stomach, and Argos gave a dreadful howl of pain and
dashed through the door out into the farm-yard. Dion heard his Mother's
footsteps coming down the stair. He thought perhaps he'd better join
Argos.
When Lydia reached the hearth-fire once more, only Daphne was in the
room. She set down the basket of figs and knelt to turn the sausages. She
had counted them and she saw at once that one was missing. She was
shocked and surprised, but she guessed what had become of it. Mothers
are just like that. She rose from her knees and looked around for the
culprit. She saw Daphne.
"You naughty boy!" she said sternly to Daphne. "What have you done with
that sausage?"
"I didn't do anything with it; I never even saw it," cried poor Daphne.
"And, besides that, I'm not a naughty boy. I'm not a boy at all! I'm
Daphne!"
"Where's Dion, then?" demanded Lydia.
"I don't know where he is," said Daphne. "I didn't see him either, but I
heard Argos howl as if some one had stepped on his tail. Maybe he took
the sausage."
Lydia went to the door and looked out into the farm-yard. Away off in the
farthest corner by the sheep-pen she saw two dark shadows.
"Come here at once," she called.
Dion and Argos both obeyed, but they came very slowly, and Argos had his
tail between his legs. Lydia pointed to the fire.
"Where is the other sausage?" she inquired, with stern emphasis.
"Argos ate it," said Dion.
"Open your mouth," said his Mother. She looked at Dion's tongue. It was
all red where it was burned.
"I suppose Argos took it off the fire and made you bite it when it was
hot," said Lydia grimly. "Very well, he is a bad dog and cannot have any
sausage with his supper. And a boy that hasn't any more manners than a
dog can't have any either. And neither one can be trusted in the kitchen
where things are cooking. Go sit on the wood-pile until I call you."
She put both Dion and Argos out of doors and turned to her cooking again.
"Supper is nearly ready," she called at last to Chloe. "You and Daphne
may bring out the couch and get the table ready."
Under the arcade in the court there was a small wooden table. Chloe and
Daphne lifted it and brought it near the fire. Then they brought a plain
wooden bench that also stood under the thatch and placed it beside the
table. They arranged cushions of lamb's wool upon the bench, and near the
foot set a low stool. Daphne brought the dishes, and when everything was
ready, Lydia sent Chloe to call her husband and the Stranger, while she
herself went out to the farm-yard. She found Dion and Argos sitting side
by side on the wood-pile in dejected silence.
"Come in and wash your hands," she said to Dion. "If you get yourself
clean, wrists and all, you may have your supper with us, but remember, no
sausage. You have had your fingers with your food." This is what mothers
used to say to their children in those days, because there were no knives
or forks, and often not even spoons, to eat with.
Lydia didn't invite Argos in, but he came anyway, and lay down beside the
fire with his nose on his paws, just where people would be most likely to
stumble over him.
When Melas and the Stranger came in, they sat down side by side on the
couch. Chloe knelt before them, took off their sandals, and bathed their
feet. Then the Stranger loosened his long, cloak-like garment, and he and
Melas reclined side by side upon the couch, their left elbows resting
on the lamb's-wool cushions. Chloe moved the little table within easy
reach of their hands, and Lydia took her place on the stool beside the
couch. It was now quite dark except for the light of the hearth-fire.
The Twins had been brought up to be seen and not heard, especially when
there was company, and as Dion was not anxious to call attention to
himself just then, the two children slipped quietly into their places on
the floor by the hearth-fire just as Melas and the Stranger dipped their
bread into their broth and began to eat.
It must be confessed that Melas seemed to enjoy the black broth much
more than his guest did, but the stranger ate it nevertheless, and when
the last drop was gone, the men both wiped their fingers on scraps of
bread and threw them to Argos, who snapped them up as greedily as if his
tongue had never been burned at all. Then Chloe brought the sausages hot
from the fire, and barley-cakes from the oven. When she had served the
men and had explained that these cakes were really not so good as her
barley-cakes usually were, Lydia gave the Twins each one, and she gave
Daphne a sausage. She just looked at Dion without a single word.
He knew perfectly well what she meant. He munched his barley-cake in
mournful silence, and I suppose no sausage ever smelled quite so good to
any little boy in the whole world as Daphne's did to Dion just then.
However, there were plenty of barley-cakes, and his mother let him have
honey to eat with them, which comforted Dion so much that when the
Stranger began to talk to Melas, he forgot his troubles entirely. He
forgot his manners too, and listened with his eyes and mouth both wide
open until the honey ran off the barley-cake and down between his
fingers. Then he licked his fingers!
No one saw him do it, not even his Mother, because she too was watching
the the inhabitants of the little farm. They lived so far from the sea,
and so far from highways of travel on the island, that the Twins in all
their lives had seen but few persons besides their own family and the
slaves who worked on the farm. The Stranger was to them a visitor from
another world--the great outside world which lay beyond the shining blue
waters of the bay. They had seen that distant world sometimes from a
hill-top on a clear day, but they had never been farther from home
than the little seaport of Ambelaca two miles away.
"How is it," the Stranger was saying to Melas, "that you, a Spartan, live
here, so far from your native soil, and so near to Athens? The Spartans
have but little love for the Athenians as a rule, nor for farming either,
I am told."
"We love the Athenians quite as well as they love us," answered Melas;
"and as for my being here, I have my father to thank for that. He was a
soldier of the Persian Wars and settled here after the Battle of Salamis.
I grew up on the island, and thought myself fortunate when I had a chance
to become overseer on this farm."
"Who is the owner of the farm?" asked the Stranger.
"Pericles, Chief Archon of Athens," answered Melas.
"You are indeed fortunate to be in his service," said the Stranger. "He
is the greatest man in Athens, and consequently the greatest man in the
world, as any Athenian would tell you!"
"Do you know him?" asked Dion, quite forgetting in his interest that
children should be seen and not heard.
Lydia shook her head at Dion, but the Stranger answered just as politely
as if Dion were forty years old instead of ten.
"Yes," he said, "I know Pericles well. I went with him only yesterday to
see the new temple he is having built upon the great hill of the
Acropolis in Athens. You have seen it, of course," he said, turning to
Melas.
"No," answered Melas. "I sell most of my produce in the markets of the
Piraeus, and go to Athens itself only when necessary to take fruit and
vegetables to the city home of Pericles. There is no occasion to
go in the winter, and the season for planting is only just begun. Perhaps
later in the summer I shall go."
"When you do," said the Stranger, "do not fail to see the new building on
the sacred hill. It is worth a longer journey than from here to Athens, I
assure you. People will come from the ends of the earth to see it some
day, or I am no true prophet."
"Oh," murmured Daphne to Dion, "don't you wish we could go too?"
"You can't go. You're a girl!" Dion whispered back. "Girls can't do such
things, but I'm going to get Father to take me with him the very next
time he goes."
Daphne turned up her nose at Dion. "I don't care if I am a girl," she
whispered back. "I'm no Athenian sissy that never puts her nose out of
doors, I can do everything you can do here on the farm, and I guess I
could in Athens too. Besides, no one would know I'm a girl; I look just
as much like a boy as you do. I look just like you."
"You do not," said Dion resentfully. "You can't look like a boy."
"Ail right," answered Daphne, "then you must look just like a girl, for
you know very well Father can't tell us apart, so there now."
Dion opened his mouth to reply, but just then his Mother shook her head
at them, and at the same moment Chloe, coming in with the wine-jar,
stumbled over Argos and nearly fell on the table. Argos yelped, and
Dion and Daphne both laughed. Lydia was dreadfully ashamed because Chloe
had been so awkward, and ashamed of the Twins for laughing. She
apologized to the Stranger.
"Oh, well," said the Stranger, and he laughed a little too, even if he
was a philosopher, "boys will be boys, and those seem two fine strong
little fellows of yours. One of these days they'll be competing in the
Olympian games, I suppose, and how proud you will be if they should bring
home the wreath of victors!"
"They are as strong as the young Hercules, both of them," Melas answered,
"but one is a girl, so we can hope to have but one victor in the family
at best."
"Perhaps two would make you over proud," said the Stranger, smiling, "so
it may be just as well that one is a girl, after all."
Dion sat up very straight at these words, but Daphne hung her head. "I do
wish I were a boy too," she said, "they can do so many things a girl is
not allowed to do. They get the best of everything."
"That must be as the Gods will," said the Stranger kindly. "And Spartan
women have always been considered just as brave as men, even if they
aren't quite as big. Anyway, some of us have to be women because we can't
get along without women in the world."
Two bright spots glowed in Lydia's cheeks, and she twirled her distaff
faster than ever. "I should think not, indeed," she said. "Men aren't
much more fit to take care of themselves than children!"
Melas and the Stranger laughed, and the Stranger turned to Daphne.
"Don't you remember, my little maid, how glad Epimetheus was to welcome
Pandora, even if she did bring trouble into the world with her?" he
asked.
"No," said Daphne, "I don't know about Pandora. Please tell us about
her!"
Lydia rose and glanced up at the stars. "It's getting near bed-time," she
said to the Twins; and to the Stranger she added, "You must excuse the
boldness of my children. They are brought up so far out of the world they
scarcely understand the reverence due men like yourself. You must not
permit them to impose upon your kindness."
"I will gladly tell them about Pandora if you are willing," said the
Stranger. "The fine old tales of Hellas should be the birthright of every
child. They will live so long as there are children in the world to hear
them and old fellows like myself to tell them."
"If you will be so gracious then," said Lydia, "but first let us prepare
ourselves to listen."
She signed to Chloe, who immediately brought a basin and towel to the
Stranger and Melas. When they had washed their hands, she carried away
the basin and swept the crumbs into the fire, while Lydia filled cups
with wine and water and set them before her husband and his guest. Then
wood was piled upon the fire, and Lydia seated herself beside it once
more with her distaff and wool-basket, while Chloe crept into the shadow
behind her mistress's chair, and the Twins drew nearer to her footstool.
When everything was quiet once more, the Stranger lifted his wine-cup.
"Since we are in the country," he said, "we will make our libation to
Demeter, the Goddess of the fields. May yours be fruitful, with her
blessing." He poured a little wine on the earthen floor as he spoke.
There was a moment of reverent silence. Then while the flames of the
hearth danced upward toward the sky and the stars winked down from above,
the Stranger began his story.
II
THE STRANGER'S STORY
"Long, long ago, when the earth was young and the Gods mingled more
freely with men than they do to-day, there lived in Hellas a beautiful
youth named Epimetheus. I am not quite sure that he was the very first
man that ever lived, but at any rate he was one of the first, and he was
very lonely. The world was then more beautiful than I can say. The sun
shone every day in the year, flowers bloomed everywhere, and the earth
brought forth abundantly all that he needed for food, but still
Epimetheus was not happy. The Gods saw how lonely he was and they felt
sorry for him.
"'Let us give him a companion,' said Zeus, the father of all the Gods.
'Even sun-crowned Olympus would be a desolate place to me if I had to
live all alone.' So the Gods all fell to hunting for just the right
companion to send to poor lonely Epimetheus, and soon they found a lovely
maiden whose name was Pandora. 'She's just the right one,' said
Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love. 'See how beautiful she is.' 'Yes,'
said Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom, 'but she will need more than beauty
or Epimetheus will tire of her. One cannot love an empty head forever,
even if it is a beautiful one. I will give her learning and wisdom.'
"'I will give her a sweet voice for singing,' said Apollo. In this way
each one of the Gods gave to Pandora some wonderful gift, and when the
time came for her departure from Olympus, where the Gods dwell, these
gifts were packed away in a marriage-chest of curious workmanship,
and were taken with her to the home of Epimetheus.
"You can imagine how glad Epimetheus was to receive a bride so nobly
endowed, and for a time everything went very happily upon the earth. At
last, one sad day, a dreadful thing happened.
"Pandora had been told by the Gods that she must not open the box, lest
she lose all the blessings it contained.
"But she was curious. She wished to see with her own eyes what was in it,
and one day, when Epimetheus was away from home, she lifted the corner of
the lid! Out flew the gifts of the Gods! She tried her best to close the
lid again, but before she could do so, the blessings had flown away in a
bright cloud.
"Poor Pandora! She sat down beside the box and wept the very first tears
that were ever shed in this world. While she was weeping and blaming
herself for her disobedience and the trouble it had caused, she heard a
little voice, way down in the bottom of the box.
"'Don't cry, dear Pandora!' the little voice said. 'You can never be
quite unhappy when I am here, and I am always going to stay with you; I
am Hope.' So Pandora dried her tears, and no matter how full of sorrow
the world has been since, there has never been a time when Hope was gone.
If that time should ever come, the world would be a desolate place
indeed."
When he had finished the story, no one said anything at all for a minute,
and then Daphne looked up at the Stranger.
"Is that really the way all the troubles began?" she asked. "Because if
it isn't, I think it's mean to blame everything on poor Pandora."
"Why, Daphne!" said her Mother in a shocked voice; but the Stranger only
smiled.
"I should not be surprised if Epimetheus were to blame for a few things
himself," he said, stroking his beard. "Anyway, I'm sure he felt he would
rather have Pandora and all the troubles in the world than to live
without her, and men have felt the same way ever since."
"Well, then," began Daphne, her eyes shining like two blue sparks, "why
don't--?"
"Daphne! Daphne!" cried Lydia warningly. "You are talking too much for a
little girl."
The Stranger nodded kindly to Lydia. "Let her speak," he said. Daphne
spoke.
"Didn't Athena say Epimetheus would get tired of Pandora if she had an
empty head?"
"Yes," admitted the Stranger, "the story certainly runs that way."
"And have men felt like that ever since too?" Daphne asked.
"Yes, I think so," answered the Stranger. "Certainly women need wisdom
now as much as Pandora did."
"Then why don't they let us learn things the same as boys," gasped
Daphne, a little frightened at her own boldness. "Dion's always telling
me I can't do things or go to places because I am a girl. I want to know
things if I _am_ a girl. I can't try for the Olympian games and I can't
even go to see them just because I am a girl." She stopped quite
overcome.
Melas and Lydia and Dion were all too astonished to speak. Only the
Stranger did not seem shocked. He drew Daphne up beside him.
"My dear," he said, "a child can ask questions which even a philosopher
cannot answer. I do not know myself why the world feels as it does, but
it certainly has always seemed to be afraid to let women know too much.
It has always seemed to prefer they should have beauty rather than
brains."
"Yes, but," urged Daphne, "I don't see why I can't try for the games too,
when I am big enough. I can run just as fast as Dion and do everything he
can do."
Melas smiled. "Daphne is true to her Spartan blood," he said. "The girls
used to compete in the games at Sparta."
The Philosopher stroked Daphne's hair. "So your name is Daphne," he said,
smiling, "And you can run fast and you have golden hair! Did you know it
was to the fleet-footed nymph Daphne with golden hair that we owe the
victor's crown at the Olympian games, even though no woman may wear it?"
Daphne shook her head. "I don't know what you mean," she said.
"I mean this," said the Stranger. "It is said that once upon a time
Apollo himself loved a beautiful nymph named Daphne. But Daphne did not
love Apollo even though he was a God, and when he pursued her she ran
away. She was as swift as the wind, but Apollo was still more swift, and
when she saw that she could not escape him by flight, she prayed to her
father, who was a river god, and, to protect her, he changed her form by
magic. Her arms became branches, her golden hair became leaves, and her
feet took root in the ground. When Apollo reached her side, she was no
longer a beautiful maiden, but a lovely laurel tree. Apollo gathered some
of the shining leaves and wove them into a wreath. 'If you will not be my
bride,' he cried, 'you shall at least be my tree and your leaves shall be
my crown,' and that is why at the games over which Apollo presides, the
victor is still crowned with laurel. It was Apollo himself who gave us
the custom and made it sacred. So, my little maid," he finished, "you
give us our crowns even though you may not win them for yourselves, don't
you see? Isn't that almost as good?"
"Maybe it is," sighed Daphne, thoughtfully, "but anyway I'd like to try
it the other way." Then she slid from the Stranger's side to her Mother's
footstool, and sat down with her head against her Mother's knee.
"You are sleepy," said Lydia, stroking her hair. "It is time you children
were in bed."
"Oh, Mother," pleaded Dion, "please let him tell just one more story. It
isn't late, truly." Then he turned to their guest. "Those were very good
stories," he said, "but they were both about girls. Won't you please tell
me one about a boy?"
"Very well," said the Stranger, "if your Mother will let me, I will tell
you the story of Perseus and how the great Goddess Athena helped him to
cut off the Gorgon's head with its writhing snaky locks! There's a story
for you! And if you don't believe it is true, some day, when you go
to Athens with your Father, you can see the Gorgon's head, snakes and
all, on the breastplate of the Goddess Athena, where she has worn it ever
since."
"Is it the real Gorgon's head?" asked Dion breathlessly, "all snakes and
blood and everything?"
"No," said the Stranger, laughing, "the blood of the Gorgon dried up long
ago. It is a sculptured head that adorns the breastplate of Athena."
Then the Twins and Chloe listened with open mouth and round eyes to
another of the most wonderful stories in the world, while Lydia forgot to
spin and the wine-cup of Melas stood untouched within reach of his hand.
Even Lydia forgot all about time, and when the story was finished, the
moon had already risen and was looking down upon them over the wall.
Lydia pointed to it with her distaff.
"See, children," she said, "the Goddess Artemis herself has come to light
you to bed. Thank your kind friend and say good-night."
III
THE SHEPHERDS
The next morning Dion was wakened by feeling a cold wet nose wiggling
about in the back of his neck. It was Argos' nose. Dion knew it at once.
He had felt it before.
"Go away, Argos," he said crossly. He pulled the sheepskin coverings of
his bed closer about his ears and turned over for another nap.
But Argos was a good shepherd dog and he knew that his first work that
morning was to round up the Twins. So he gamboled about on his four
clumsy paws and barked. Then, seeing that Dion had no intention of
getting up, he seized the sheepskin covers and dragged them to the
floor.
"Bow-wow," he said.
Dion sat up shivering. "Good dog," said Dion, "go away from here; go wake
Daphne!"
"Bow-wow, bow-wow," said Argos, and bounded off to Daphne's room to wake
her too.
Dressing took only a minute, for the children each wore but one garment,
and there were no buttons; so, though they were sleepy and their fingers
were cold and clumsy, they appeared in the court while the roosters in
the farm-yard were still crowing and the thrushes in the olive trees were
in the midst of their sunrise song. Chloe had already gone out to feed
the chickens. Lydia was bending over the hearth-fire, and their Father
was just saying good-bye to the Stranger at the door of the court, and
pointing out to him the road to the little seaport town.
"You will probably find a boat going over to the Piraeus some time
to-day," he said, "and as they usually go early in the morning, it is
well for you to make an early start from here. May Hermes speed you
on your way."
"Farewell," said the Stranger, "and if ever a philosopher can serve a
farmer, you have but to ask in the Piraeus for the home of Anaxagoras. I
thank you for your hospitality," and with these words he was gone.
Melas had eaten his breakfast of bread and wine with his guest before
dawn, and was now ready for the day's work in the fields. The slaves of
Pericles were already in the farm-yard, yoking the oxen, milking the
goats, and getting out the tools. There were pleasant early sounds all
about, but the Twins hovered over the hearth-fire, for the morning was
chill; and Dion yawned. Lydia saw him.
"Come," she said briskly, "wash your faces! That will wake you up, if you
are still sleepy. And then I'll have a bite for you to eat, and some
bread and cheese for you to carry with you to the hills."
"Are we going to the hills?" asked Dion.
"Yes," said Melas. "To-day you must watch the sheep. Dromas has to help
me plough the corn-field. You are old enough now to look after the flock
and bring the sheep all safe home again at night. Come, move quickly!
'Still on the sluggard hungry want attends.'"
"They were up too late," said Lydia. "If they can't wake up in the
morning they must go to bed very early every night."
When Dion and Daphne heard their Mother say that, they became at once
quite lively, and were soon washed and ready for their breakfast, which
was nothing but cold barley-cakes left over from the night before and a
drink of warm goat's milk. When they had eaten it, Daphne put the bread
and cheese which Lydia had wrapped up in a towel for their luncheon in
the front of her dress and they were ready to start.
Melas and Dromas, the shepherd, were waiting for them at the farm-yard
gate when the Twins came bounding out of the back door, Dion with a
little reed pipe in his hand and Daphne carrying a shepherd's crook. The
sheep were huddled together at the gate, waiting to be let out.
"Be sure you keep good watch of that old black ewe," said Dromas to the
Twins as he went to open the gate. "She is a wanderer. I never saw a
sheep like her. She is always straying off by herself. Quarrelsome too.
Argos knows she has to be watched more than the others, and sometimes
when she goes off by herself and he goes after her, she just puts her
head down and butts at him like an old goat The wolves will get her one
of these days, as sure as my name is Dromas."
"Are there wolves in the hills?" asked Daphne.
"Maybe a few," answered Dromas, "but they don't usually come round when
they see the flock together, and a good dog along. You needn't be
afraid."
"I'm not afraid of anything," said Daphne proudly, and then the gate was
opened, the sheep crowded through, and Dion and Daphne with Argos fell in
behind the flock, and away they went toward the hills, to the music of
Dion's pipe, the bleating of the sheep, and the tinkling of their bells.
The children followed the cart-path westward for some distance, and then
left it to drive the flock up the southern slope of a rocky high hill,
where the grass was already quite green in places and there was good
pasture for the sheep. It was still so early in the morning that the sun
threw long, long shadows before them, when they reached the hill pasture,
though they were then two miles from home. The pasture was a lonely
place. Even from the hill-tops there were no houses or villages to be
seen. Far, far away toward the east they could see the olive and fig
trees around their own house. On the western horizon there was a glimpse
of blue sea. In a field nearer they could barely make out two brown
specks moving slowly back and forth. They were oxen, and Dromas was
ploughing with them. It was so still that the children could plainly
hear the breathing of the sheep as they cropped the grass, and the ripple
of the little stream which spread out into a shallow river and watered
the valley below.
The hillside was bare except for shrubs and a few trees, but there were
wonderful places to play among the rocks. Dion proposed that they play
robber cave in a hollow place between two large boulders; but as he
insisted on being the robber, and Daphne wouldn't play if she couldn't be
the robber half the time, that game had to be given up.
Then Daphne said, "Come on! Let's play Apollo and Daphne! I'm Daphne
anyway, and I can run like the wind. You can be Apollo, only I know you
can't catch me! I can run so fast that even the real Apollo couldn't
catch me!"
Dion looked scared.
"Don't you know the Gods are all about us, only we can't see them?" he
demanded. "Apollo may have heard what you said, and if he should take a
notion to punish you for bragging, I guess you'd be sorry. Maybe he'll
turn you into a tree just like the other Daphne."
"Pooh," said Daphne. "I'm not afraid. I should think the Gods wouldn't
have time to listen to everything little girls say! They can't be very
busy if they do."
Dion was horrified. "That's a wicked thing to say," he said. "You must
never speak that way of the Gods. Oh dear! This is bound to be an unlucky
day. This morning when Argos woke me, I was having a bad dream! That's a
very bad sign."
"It's a sign you ate too much last night," said Daphne. She said it very
boldly, but really she was beginning to feel a little frightened too, for
every one she knew believed in such signs and omens.
"Come along out of this place, anyway," said Dion. "Let's go somewhere
else and play. Let's go to the brook."
The two children came out of their cave between the rocks and started
toward the little stream, which was hidden from them by bushes. The sheep
were all grazing contentedly along the hillside, the old black ewe
browsing in the very middle of the flock. Argos was sitting on the
hill-top in the sunshine, watching them, with his tongue hanging
out. The sun was now quite high in the sky and the day was warm. The
children paddled in the water and built a dam, and sent fleets of leaves
down the stream, and played knuckle-bones on a flat rock beside it, until
at last they were hungry, and then they ate their bread and cheese.
When they had finished the last crumb, Daphne curled herself up on the
flat rock with her head on her arm.
"I'm so sleepy," she said. "I can't keep awake another minute."
You see, they had been up ever so many hours then, and the sunshine was
very warm, and the bees buzzed so drowsily in the sunshine!
"You and Argos watch the sheep," she begged, and was asleep before you
could say Jack Robinson.
Dion came out of the bushes and counted the flock like a careful
shepherd. They were all there, and Argos was still on watch.
"I'll lie down a little while, too," said Dion to himself, "but I won't
go to sleep. I'll just look at the sky."
He stretched himself out beside Daphne and watched the white clouds
sailing away overhead, and in two minutes he was asleep too.
How long they slept the children never knew. They were awakened at last
by a long, long howl, which seemed to come from the other side of the
hill. They sat up and clutched each other in terror. There was an
answering howl from Argos, and mingled with it they heard the dull thud
of many feet, the bleating of sheep, and the frightened cries of lambs.
"The sheep are frightened. There's a stampede!" cried Dion.
The two children plunged through the bushes and gazed about them. The
whole flock had disappeared! Their bells could be heard in a mad jangle
of sound from the farther side of the hill, Argos was barking wildly.
"Come on," shouted Dion, springing out of the bushes, "We must get them
back."
"Suppose it is a wolf!" shrieked Daphne, tumbling after him.
"We'll have to get the sheep back even if it is a bear," cried Dion, and
he tore away over the crest of the hill and down the farther slope.
Daphne followed after him, as fast as she could run.
The sheep were already a long distance away, in a region of the hills
which the children had never seen before in their lives, but they did not
stop to think of that. All they thought was that the sheep must be
brought back at any cost. They could see Argos barking and circling round
the frightened flock, and away in the distance a huge wild creature was
just disappearing into the woods.
On the children ran, over rocks and through briars, until at last they
reached the sheep, whose flight Argos had already checked. Dion ran
beyond to turn them back, while Daphne herded them on one side and Argos
on the other. When they had the flock together and quiet once more, the
children counted them.
"There's one missing!" cried Daphne, aghast. "And it's the old black ewe!
What will Father say?"
"It's all your fault," said Dion. "I told you you would have bad luck if
you spoke about the Gods the way you did. I shouldn't wonder if that
wasn't really a wolf that we saw. It may have been Pan himself! Or it may
have been Apollo, and he meant to show you that you can't run even as
fast as a sheep!"
"Anyway, the old black ewe is gone."
"Oh dear! Oh dear! What shall we do?" mourned Daphne.
By this time the sun was low in the sky, and it was late afternoon.
"The first thing to do is to get home as fast as we can," said Dion.
"Which way is home?" said Daphne.
Dion looked about him. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe Argos does. Here
Argos! Good dog! Take 'em home! Home Argos! Home!"
Argos wagged his tail, and ran around behind the flock.
"Bow-wow, bow-wow," he barked, and nipped the heels of the wether. In a
short time he had the whole flock moving toward a hollow between the
hills. As they trotted along behind the sheep, Daphne struck her hands
together in dismay.
"What else do you think I have done?" she cried. "I've left my crook in
the robber's cave!"
"And I left my pipe there, too," Dion wailed.
"We can't get them to-night anyway," sobbed Daphne. "We could never find
the place! And besides, it is too late. It will be dark before we get
home."
They trudged along behind Argos and the sheep in dismal silence. Argos
did not seem at all in doubt about the way home. He drove the sheep
through the hollow between the hills and across two fields, and brought
them out at last upon a roadway.
"This must be the road that goes by the house," cried Dion joyfully. For
answer Daphne pointed toward the east. There some distance ahead of them
was Dromas driving the oxen home from the day's ploughing.
Daphne clapped her hands for joy. "I knew Argos would find the way!" she
cried.
The bright colors of the sunset were just fading from the sky when they
reached the farm-yard gate. Dromas had gone in before them with the oxen,
and Melas himself was waiting to let them in and to count the sheep.
"Where is the old black ewe?" he said sternly to the Twins, when the last
sheep had passed through the gate.
"We don't know," sobbed Daphne. "We lost her. We lost the crook, and
Dion's little pipe, too. A wolf frightened the flock, and they ran away,
and--"
"_Maybe_ it was a wolf," said Dion darkly.
Then the Twins told the whole story to their Father. Melas did not say
much to them. He was a man of few words at any time, but he made them
feel very much ashamed. And when Lydia heard the things Daphne had said
about the Gods, they felt worse than ever, at least Daphne did.
That night, before the family went to bed, Melas kindled a fire upon the
little altar which stood in the middle of the court and offered upon it a
handful of barley, and prayed to Pan and to Apollo that Daphne might be
forgiven for her wicked words.
IV
SOWING AND REAPING
The children were not allowed again to take the sheep to the hills. "They
are not to be trusted," said Melas. "They are the sort of shepherds that
go to sleep and let the wolves find the flock. They are not real
Spartans."
Dion and Daphne felt this as a terrible reproach. Dromas now had to go
with the sheep, and so could no longer help with the other farm work, and
the ploughing and sowing of the corn-field had to be finished by Melas
himself. The Twins did their best to help. When Melas scattered the
grain, they followed with rakes and scratched a layer of earth over the
seeds. The crows watched the planting with much interest.
"Look at them," cried Dion to his Father one afternoon. "There are five
of them on that tree yonder, and the minute we get to one end of the
field they begin to scratch up the grain at the other."
"We'll fix them," said Melas shortly.
He sent the Twins to the house for sticks and straw and his old worn-out
sheepskin cloak and hat, and when they came back, Melas stuck two long
sticks of wood in the ground and bound a cross piece to them with strips
of leather. Then he wound the sticks with straw, and made a round bundle
of straw at the top. He tied it all securely with thongs. Then he dressed
it with the sheepskin and put on the hat. When it was done, it was the
scariest looking scarecrow you ever saw!
"I guess that will frighten the crows!" said Dion, as he gazed at it
admiringly. "It just about scares me."
"Caw, caw, caw!" screamed a crow.
A crow was flying right over his head! Dion shook his fist at him. "You
old thief!" he cried.
"I know one more thing we can do," said Daphne. "Lycias told me about
it." She got a small piece of bark and made a little amulet of it. She
punched a hole through one end and put a leather string through it.
Neither she nor Dion could write, so when she had explained what must
be done Melas himself took a sharp stone and scratched a curse upon crows
in the soft bark. When it was done Daphne hung it about the neck of the
scarecrow. "There," said Melas grimly, "I don't believe he'll go to sleep
on the job. He's a Spartan scarecrow! Now let's go home to supper, and
to-morrow we'll see how it works."
The next morning the very first thing the Twins did was to rush out to
the field and there, right on top of the scarecrow were three black
crows, and more were on the ground eating up the seed!
"After all we did, just look at them!" cried Dion.
"Caw, caw," screamed the crows.
"You don't suppose Father made a mistake, and wrote a blessing instead
of a curse on that amulet?" said Daphne anxiously. They ran back to the
house as fast as they could go. Melas was just coming out of the
farm-yard with a pruning-hook in his hand.
"Oh, Father," cried Dion, "the crows are roosting all over the scarecrow.
Maybe he wasn't a Spartan scarecrow after all."
"Anyway, he seems to have gone to sleep on the job," added Daphne.
Melas stared at the crows in angry silence. "You children will have to
get your clappers then, and just drive the old thieves away," he said at
last, "You will have to spend the day in the field watching them. I've
got to work in the vineyard. The vines must be pruned."
The Twins had not yet had their breakfast and they were hungry. So they
ran to the kitchen, seized some barley-cakes and a little jar of milk,
and in a few minutes were back again in the field. They sat down with
the wooden clappers beside them, and ate their breakfast in the company
of the scarecrow. All day long they watched the grain and rattled their
clappers, or threw clods at the black marauders. It was lively work, and
although they did not like it, they remembered the black ewe and stuck
faithfully at it all through the long day.
When the sun was high overhead, Lydia brought them some figs and cheese
and a drink of goat's milk. She also brought a message. This was the
message. "Father says you are to stay here until after dark. You are to
hunt around until you find a toad, and when you find it, you must be
sure not to let it get away from you. He is going to put a magic spell on
the field to keep the crows away, but the spell will not work except in
the dark. So you must stay here until he comes."
Between keeping off the birds and hunting for the toad, the Twins spent a
busy afternoon. And after the toad was found it was no joke to try to
keep it. It was a wonderful hopper and nearly got away twice. At dusk the
crows flew away to their nests, and the children were alone in the field
until the twilight deepened into darkness. Owls had begun to hoot and
bats were flying about, when at last they saw three dim, shadowy figures
coming across the field.
The shadowy figures were Melas, Lydia, and Chloe. Lydia bore a jar, which
she placed beside the scarecrow in the middle of the field. Melas took
the toad in his hand, formed the others in line, and then solemnly headed
the procession as the five walked slowly round the entire field, carrying
the toad. When they got back to the scarecrow again, Melas put the toad
in the jar and sealed it. Then he buried the jar in the middle of the
field, beside the scarecrow.
"There," said Lydia, when it was done, "that's the very strongest spell
there is. If that doesn't protect the corn, I don't know another thing to
do."