The Junior Classics, vol 7 | Page 3

door, crept gently into a room which served as their workshop and dwelling-place. Phidias saw a man stretched out on a couch at the farther end of the room, near a bench where many images and pots of all sorts lay unfinished.
"This is our home," whispered Iris proudly, "and that is my father yonder."
The image-maker looked up and called for Iris.
"I am so faint, child," he murmured. "If I could only become strong again I could get back to my work. It is so hard to lie here and die."
Phidias bent over him.
"You shall not die," he said, "if money can do you any good. I met your little daughter, and she told me that you were an image-maker; and that interested me, because I, too, can make images, though perhaps not as well as you. Still, I thought I should like to come and see you and help you; and if you will let me, I will try and make a few images for you, so that your daughter may go out and sell them, and bring you home money. And meanwhile, she shall fetch you some food to nourish you."
Then he turned to Iris, and putting some coins into her hands bade her go out and bring what she thought fit. She did not know how to thank him, but hurried away on her glad errand, and Phidias talked kindly to his fellow-worker, and then, throwing aside his cloak, sat down at the bench and busied himself with modelling the clay.
It was so different from his ordinary work that he could not help smiling.
"This is rather easier," he thought to himself, "than carving from the marble a statue of Athena. What a strange occupation!" Nevertheless, he was so interested in modelling the quaint little images that he did not perceive that Iris had returned, until he looked up, and saw her standing near him, watching him with wonder, which she could not conceal.
"Oh, how clever!" she cried. "Father, if you could only see what he is doing!"
"Nay, child," said the sculptor, laughing; "get your father his food, and leave me to my work. I am going to model a little image of the goddess Athena, for I think the folk will like to buy that, since that rogue Phidias has set up his statue of her in the Parthenon."
"Phidias, the prince of sculptors!" said the image-maker. "May the gods preserve his life; for he is the greatest glory of all Athens!"
"Ay," said Iris, as she prepared her father's food, "that is what we all call him--the greatest glory of all Athens."
"We think of him," said Arist?us, feebly, "and that helps us in our work. Yes, it helps even us poor image-makers. When I saw the beautiful Athena I came home cheered and encouraged. May Phidias be watched over and blessed all his life!"
The tears came into the eyes of Phidias as he bent over his work; it was a pleasure to him to think that his fame gained for him a resting-place of love and gratitude in the hearts of the poorest citizens of Athens. He valued this tribute of the image-maker far more than the praises of the rich and great. Before he left, he saw that both father and daughter were much refreshed by the food which his bounty had given to them, and he bade Arist?us be of good cheer, because he would surely regain his health and strength.
"And because you love your art," he said, "I shall be a friend to you and help you. And I shall come again to-morrow and do some work for you--that is to say, if you approve of what I have already done, and then Iris will be able to go out and sell the figures."
He hastened away before they were able to thank him, and he left them wondering who this new friend could be. They talked of him for a long time, of his kindness and his skill; and Arist?us dreamt that night about the stranger who had come to work for him.
The next day Phidias came again, and took his place at the image-maker's bench, just as if he were always accustomed to sit there. Arist?us, who was better, watched him curiously, but asked no questions.
But Iris said to him: "My father and I talk of you, and wonder who you are."
Phidias laughed.
"Perhaps I shall tell you some day," he answered. "There, child, what do you think of that little vase? When it is baked it will be a pretty thing."
As the days went on, the image-maker recovered his strength; and meanwhile Phidias had filled the little shop with dainty-wrought images and graceful vases, such as had never been seen there before.
One evening, when Arist?us was leaning against Iris, and admiring the stranger's work, the