A Question | Page 6

for a week or longer as a guest, not over yonder with Protarch, but here
in our house. He is a, handsome youth, even taller than Phaon, and
Mopsus says Alciphron's wife, by our master's request, dipped deep
into his purse at Messina, and bought from her husband's merchant
friends gold bracelets and women's garments, such as matrons wear."

At these words a smile of joy and hope flitted over Semestre's wrinkled
face, like a spring breeze sweeping across a leafless garden. She no
longer thought of the harm a piece of news might do her empty
stomach, and, while mentally seeing the flutter of a matron's beautiful
blue garment and the flash of Xanthe's rich dowry, eagerly asked the
welcome messenger:
"Does she speak the truth? And what is this about the robes?"
"I brought the clothes myself," replied Mopsus, "and packed them in a
beautiful chest inlaid with ivory, like those newlywedded youths
receive with the bridal dowry. Praxilla, the handsome sister of
Alciphron's wife, also gave--"
"Go and call Xanthe!" cried Semestre, interrupting the messenger. She
had laughed softly several times while listening to his tale, and, when
the girls hastily withdrew with Mopsus, cast a triumphant glance at
Jason.
Then, remembering how much was to be done to make fitting
preparation for the young suitor Leonax, she called loudly:
"Dorippe--Chloris! Chloris--Dorippe !" Neither of the maidens seemed
to hear, and, when obliged to resign all hope of an answer, she
shrugged her shoulders, and turning to Jason said:
"So young and so deaf; it is sad. Poor girls!"
"They like Mopsus better than you, and don't wish to hear," replied
Jason, laughing. "They can't," said Semestre, angrily. "Mopsus is a bold,
good-for-nothing fellow, whom I've often wanted to drive out of the
house, but I should like to see the person who refused me obedience.
As for your proposal, you have now heard distinctly enough that our
girl is intended for Leonax."
"But suppose Xanthe doesn't want Leonax, and prefers Phaon to the
stranger?"

"Alciphron's son a 'stranger' on the estates of his ancestors!" exclaimed
Semestre. "What don't we hear? But I must go to work to prepare the
best possible reception for Leonax, that he may feel from the first he is
no stranger here, but perfectly at home. Now go, if you choose, and
offer sacrifices to Aphrodite, that she may join the hearts of Xanthe and
Phaon. I'll stick to my spit."
"Then you'll be in the right place," cried Jason, "but you're not yet
turning it for Leonax's wedding-feast."
"And I promise you I'll prepare the roast for Phaon's," retorted
Semestre, "but not until the sacrifice of an animal I'm fattening myself
induces the foam-born goddess to kindle in Xanthe's heart sweet love
for Leonax."

CHAPTER II.
XANTHE.
"Xanthe, Xanthe!" called Semestre, a short time after. "Xanthe! Where
is the girl?"
The old woman had gone into the garden. Knowing how to use time to
advantage, and liking to do two things at once, while looking for her
nursling and repeatedly shouting the girl's name, she was gathering
vegetables and herbs, on which the dew of early morning still glittered
brightly.
While thus occupied, she was thinking far more of her favorite's son
and the roast meats, cakes, and sauces to be prepared for him, than of
Xanthe.
She wanted to provide for Leonax all the dishes his father had specially
liked when a child, for what a father relishes, she considered, will
please his children.
Twenty times she had stooped to pluck fresh lavender, green lettuce,

and young, red turnips, and each time, while straightening herself again
by her myrtle-staff, as well as a back bent by age would allow, called
"Xanthe, Xanthe!"
Though she at last threw her head back so far that the sun shone into
her open mouth, and the power of her lungs was not small, no answer
came. This did not make her uneasy, for the girl could not be far away,
and Semestre was used to calling her name more than once before she
obeyed.
True, to-day the answer was delayed longer than usual. The maiden
heard the old woman's shrill, resounding voice very clearly, but heeded
it no more than the cackling of the hens, the screams of the peacocks,
and the cooing of the doves in the court-yard.
The house-keeper, she knew, was calling her to breakfast, and the bit of
dry bread she had taken with her was amply sufficient to satisfy her
hunger. Nay, if Semestre had tempted her with the sweetest cakes, she
would not have left her favorite nook by the spring now.
This spring gushed from the highest rock on her father's estate. She
often went there, especially when her heart was stirred, and it was a
lovely spot.
The