The Spartan Twins | Page 7

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