A Question | Page 2

it, and there was a great barter. Alciphron is clever,

and has a lucky hand, in which the liquid gold we press from the olives
with so much toil, and keep so carefully, becomes coined metal. He's
like my own child, for I was his nurse. Here in the country we increase
our riches by care, patience and frugality, while the city merchant must
have farseeing eyes, and know how to act speedily. Even when a boy,
my Alciphron was the wisest of Dionysius's three sons, and, if there
was anything sweet to be divided, always knew how to get the largest
share. When his mother was alive, she once told the lad to give her the
best of some freshly-baked cakes, that she might take it to the temple
for an offering, and what was his answer? 'It will be well for me to taste
them all, that I may be certain not to make a mistake;' and when
Clytemnestra--"
"Is Alciphron younger than our poor master?" interrupted Dorippe.
"They were sesame cakes with honey," replied the house-keeper, whose
hearing was impaired by age, and who therefore frequently
misunderstood words uttered in a low tone. "Is the linen ready for the
wash?"
"I didn't ask about the cakes," replied Dorippe, exchanging a
mischievous glance with Chloris; "I only wanted to know--"
"You girls are deaf; I've noticed it a long time," interrupted the
house-keeper. "You've grown hard of hearing, and I know why.
Hundreds of times I've forbidden you to throw yourselves on the dewy
grass in the evening, when you were heated by dancing. How often I
get absurd answers, when I ask you anything!"
The girls both laughed merrily.
The higher voice of one mingled harmoniously with the deeper tones of
her companion, and two pairs of dark eyes again met, full of joyous
mirth, for they well knew who was deaf, and who had quicker hearing
than even the nightingale, which, perched on the green fig-tree outside,
was exultingly hailing the sunrise, now with a clear, flute-like warble,
now with notes of melancholy longing.

The house-keeper looked with mingled astonishment and anger at the
two laughing girls, then clapped her hands loudly, exclaiming:
"To work, wenches! You, Chloris, prepare the morning meal; and you,
Dorippe, see if the master wants anything, and bring fresh wood for the
fire. Stop your silly giggling, for laughing before sunrise causes tears at
evening. I suppose the jests of the vineyard watchmen are still lingering
in your heads. Now go, and don't touch food till you've arranged your
hair."
The girls, nudging each other, left the women's apartment, into which
the dawn was now shining more brightly through the open roof.
It was a stately room, surrounded by marble columns, which bore
witness to the owner's wealth, for the floor was beautifully adorned
with bright- hued pictures, mosaic work executed in colored stones by
an artist from Syracuse. They represented the young god Dionysius, the
Hyades surrounding him, and in colored groups all the gifts of the
divinities who watch over fields and gardens, as well as those of the
Nysian god. Each individual design, as well as the whole picture, was
inclosed in a framework of delicate lines. The hearth, over which
Semestre now bent, to fan the glimmering embers with a goose-wing,
was made of yellow marble.
Dorippe now returned, curtly said that the master wanted to be helped
into the open air, when the sun was higher, and brought, as she had
been ordered, a fresh supply of gnarled olive-branches, and pinecones,
which, kindling rapidly, coaxed the wood to unite its blaze with theirs.
Glittering sparks flew upward from the crackling branches toward the
open roof, and with them a column of warm smoke rose straight into
the pure, cool morning air; but as the door of the women's apartment
now opened, the draught swept the gray, floating pillar sideways,
directly toward Semestre, who was fanning the flames with her
goose-wing.
Coughing violently, she wiped her eyes with the edge of her blue
peplum, and glanced angrily at the unbidden guest who ventured to

enter the women's apartment at this hour.
As soon as she recognized the visitor she nodded pleasantly, though
with a certain touch of condescension, and rose from her stool, but
instantly dropped back on it again, instead of going forward to meet the
new-comer. Then she planted herself still more firmly on her seat, and,
instead of uttering a friendly greeting, coughed and muttered a few
unintelligible words.
"Give me a little corner by your fire, it's a cold morning," cried the old
man in a deep voice. "Helios freezes his people before he comes, that
they may be doubly grateful for the warmth he bestows."
"You are right," replied Semestre, who had only understood a