Chapter 5

"O, grasshopper, grasshopper gray, Give me molasses and then hop away."

That is what Bessie Allen said to the little creature she held between her thumb and fingers. Did you ever say that rhyme? I should not wonder if you had said it an hundred times.

The grasshopper in Bessie's fingers seemed very ready to give her brown molasses from his little mouth and then she let him hop away while she went to catch another. She did not want that molasses; all she wanted was the fun of catching the little "hoppity-hops," as she sometimes called them.

"Come, catch me! I'm a hopper," called her five-year-old brother Willie. And she saw the little fellow hopping through the grass.

Bessie had so much fun trying to catch this new "grasshopper gray," that she forgot all about the little creatures she had been pinching.

At last she had her arms around her brother Willie.

"Now you are caught," she said. "Give me some molasses."

And then they both laughed so hard that their mother heard as she came to the door to look for them.

That night their mother said to their father:

"I have a new name for Willie."

"What is it?" asked their father.

"Tithonus," said their mother.

"When I was in school one of my lessons was about the beautiful goddess Aurora. She was said to open the rosy gates of dawn with her own fingers, so that the wonderful horses of Apollo might pass through to follow their shining track through the sky. She was so beautiful that Tithonus, who lived on the earth, always watched for the sunrise, that he might see Aurora. After a while she began to watch for him, too. She looked down every morning on the wakening world and found that he was almost the only one among mortals who enjoyed the glorious colors Apollo painted in the sky with his arrows of light. One morning she dared to sing to him, and then he answered that it was Aurora, and not Apollo, for whom he was watching each morning at sunrise. She loved him for this and became his wife.

"Being a goddess, she could live for ever, and she wanted Tithonus to live forever, too. The gods and goddesses never drink wine or water, but ambrosia from golden goblets. She brought a golden goblet of ambrosia to Tithonus on the earth, and, after he had taken a drink, told him the happy news that now he should live forever. But she had forgotten to ask of the gods for him the gift of eternal youth.

"For many years they loved each other dearly. Then Aurora saw that Tithonus was growing into a little old man.

"When he was one hundred years old he was shrunken to the size of a boy of ten.

"When he was two hundred years old he was no larger than a baby, only he was very lively, and could run as fast as a man.

"When he was three hundred years old Aurora could scarcely find him, save as his song told her where he was. With his head bent down to the ground he did not look like a man, and he made his home by the dusty roadside. But every sunrise he sat upon the tallest spear of grass he could find and chirped to Aurora as she opened the gates of dawn for Apollo. After years and years Aurora forgot all about the little gray grasshopper, but I don't think Tithonus has forgotten her, for he and all his grasshopper friends chirp the same song as when he first came to live among them."

"Poor old Tithonus!" said Bessie.

"Why, no," said her father; "mother said he could never die. Maybe it was Tithonus who gave you molasses to-day. Yes, perhaps that was ambrosia instead of molasses that the gray grasshopper dropped from his lips."

"Oh, don't tell any more!" laughed both Willie and Bessie. "We won't catch another grasshopper."

WHERE THE FROGS CAME FROM

_Roman_

You see the sun every bright day, don't you?

And you see the moon every moonshiny night.

Now, listen, and I'll tell you a story about their mother. No, not about their mother, but about the mother of the god of the sun, and of the goddess of the moon, whose names were Apollo and Diana.

It is about Apollo's and Diana's mother this story is to be.

Once when they were little twin babies their mother was in great trouble. She had to wander around and around, and get food and drink wherever she could find them.

One day she went to a pond for water, for the people in the houses were cross and would not give her any.

And just think of it! These people, careless about soiling their green coats and white vests, ran down to the pond ahead of her, jumped in and stirred the water so that it was black with mud.

And they called out, "Come and drink, Latona! Come and drink water, pure and sweet, Latona!"

This the cruel people did until Latona and her babies were so tired and thirsty they could wait no longer.

"Why do you abuse us?" she said; "you have plenty of water in your wells. Can you not see how these poor babies reach out their hands to you?"

But the rude people were jealous of the beautiful woman and her lovely twins, and only stirred the water till it was blacker, and cried the more, until they were fairly hoarse:

"Come and drink! Come and drink!"

Latona put her two babies down on the warm grass. Then she looked straight into the blue sky, and raising her hands said:

"May you never quit that pond in all your lives, neither you nor your children!"

The story is that Jupiter heard her, and that these cruel people never came out of the water again. They grew very small; their green coats and white vests turned into skin, and their children wear to-day the same kind of suits their parents wore that day they waded into the pool. Though they have the whole pond to themselves, they croak away until their mouths have grown wide and ugly, as mockingly as did their forefathers at Latona.

"Come and drink!" But who wants to drink out of a frog pond?

Little heathen boys, who believed this story, used to pelt frogs with stones, and there are some boys now who act just like those foolish little heathen.

THE BIRDS WITH ARROW FEATHERS

_Greek_

There is an old story that tells how a man named Jason went on a long journey in search of a golden fleece.

He fitted up a great boat, and the bravest and strongest men of his country offered to go with him.

They had no ships like ours, in those days, and when the sails were not filled with wind, every man took an oar, and, with twenty oars or more on each side, the boat was made to move through the waves very swiftly.

The heroes in Jason's boat had all won fame before they started out on this voyage, and many were already warm friends. There was the great Hercules, and Orpheus, the sweet singer; Castor, who could tame the wildest horses, and his twin brother Pollux, who was the greatest boxer the world has ever seen, or perhaps ever will see.

These and many others sat side by side in this boat, which Jason called the Argo. Many strange things happened to them on their voyage after the golden fleece. One was when they were attacked by birds. They saw many new countries also, and one day the Argo sailed by a very strange island where nearly all the people lived underground. These people never plowed their land with the strong oxen, nor planted seed, nor reaped harvests. They had no flocks of woolly sheep, nor herds of cattle.

All day long they worked away under the surface of the earth, digging and digging at great black stones they found there. Then they sold these stones or rocks to people in other countries, and so bought bread for themselves.

These people, with their black faces and grimy hands, left their work for a little while when someone told them of the beautiful boat that was in sight. They looked very strange to those in the ship, for no one in the land from which the Argo came worked under the ground. In that happy realm everyone lived in the sunshine and worked in the open fields. But after a while the Argo sailed away from this home of the underground people and on beyond. Suddenly the sky was darkened and great flocks of giant birds flew thick and fast above them. Then the wind changed and the frightened rowers had to take the oars.

The sky grew black as night. Down shot a feather from one of the birds. It struck one of the rowers on the left shoulder and he dropped his oar, for the pain was like a spear-thrust. Down sped another arrow feather, so pointed and sharp that another rower who was hit had to drop his oar. Thicker and faster came these arrow feathers upon the bare heads and naked shoulders of the men at the oars.

The best archers shot back at the birds with their sharpest-pointed arrows, but not a bird was harmed.

"What shall we do?" shouted the men still at the oars.

"You will never kill those birds," said one who had seen their feather arrows before. "All that you can do is to cover your heads and let us, who are too badly hurt for rowing, help cover your shoulders with our shields."

Then those at the oars put on their shining helmets; those who did not row held up the great war shields over them. The boat looked as if it had a roof. Down on the helmets came the feathers, so sharp that many of them made holes in the shining metal. Down on the shields they pelted, till it seemed as if the sky was raining drops of lead. The birds themselves came no nearer. But oh, their feather arrows were enough to frighten even these bravest of men.

The rowers worked as hard and as steadily as they could, and after a while they were out of reach of the terrible feathers.

The strange part of it all was that they never could find one of those sharp-pointed arrows with which the birds had shot them.

When the sun came out they were in a safe harbor. They looked and looked, but not a feather was to be found. One man declared that he knew the feathers were white.

"But the birds were black," said all the rest. "How could the arrows be white when even the sun was darkened by the black-winged creatures?"

How the dispute was settled I do not know, for the sharp-pointed feathers had melted all away, like hailstones from dark storm-clouds. It is certain, however, that the men never found any of the arrows with which they had been shot.

WHY THE PARTRIDGE STAYS NEAR THE GROUND

_Greek_

Daedalus was a skillful workman in many ways. One of the first things he did to make himself famous was to build a maze. It had so many winding walks and crooked paths that anyone who walked in ten steps without a guide never could get out unaided.

He built this maze for his king, but before many years he offended the king in some way and was locked up in a high tower. In the roof of the tower were hundreds of doves, and as they flew back and forth, Daedalus said:

"My king rules the land and the sea, but not the air. I will try that way of escape."

So he set to work to make wings for himself. He shaped two great frames and covered them with feathers. The largest plumes he sewed on with thread, and the smaller ones he fastened with wax.

Icarus, his son, stood and looked on, catching any of the feathers the wind tried to blow away. He troubled his father much, however, by taking the wax and making little balls, which he tossed about the room.

The keeper of the tower thought the wise man very silly to spend his time making blankets of feathers, Daedalus never let the keeper of the tower see how he curved and pointed the corners of his frames. The keeper told how foolish the wise man had grown from being shut up so long; how he spent his time gathering feathers to make great blankets. The people pitied him, not knowing that this very punishment was giving Daedalus another chance to make himself famous.

One dark night Daedalus fastened the broad wings to his shoulders, and jumping from the window found he could sail like a dove, but he could not carry his boy. Back he flew and, folding his wings, slipped into the window. Now he must make a pair for Icarus.

Soon this second pair was done, but the little fellow had to be taught like a young bird how to use them. Many a time if Daedalus had not caught him on his own great wings, Icarus would have gone tumbling heels over head, down, down to the foot of the tower.

Finally, Icarus, too, could sail like a pigeon, and if the night had not been so dark it would have been great fun to see these two new birds fly out of that tower window.

Keeping their wings so close to each other that they almost touched, they flew away over houses and fields. Before the sun came out, Daedalus told his boy to be careful to keep near him. "Don't fly too near the sun, for the heat will melt the wax, nor too low, for the damp will wet the feathers. Keep close to me."

When the morning dawned they saw the men plowing in the fields stop work to look at them. Shepherds left their flocks and ran miles to see where those strange birds were going. No one could tell who they were. It was grand to be so free and to fly so swiftly.

An eagle saw them and flew near. They felt the breeze from his powerful wings, and swifter went their own. The eagle, frightened, turned and mounted toward the sun. Icarus forgot his father's warning and followed. Daedalus flew on and on, thinking his boy was beside him. Up, up went Icarus swifter than the eagle and swept proudly past him toward the sun. The next instant he felt his wings loosen and droop.

Just then, Daedalus, who was miles away, turned his head, for he heard the boy call him.

"Icarus, Icarus, where are you?" his father shouted. There was no answer, but the mass of feathers in the blue sea below told the story. Flying down, Daedalus searched till he found the body, and, tenderly laying it in the earth he wept that he had ever thought of wings.

The land where this happened was wild, and only savage beasts lived in it, so Daedalus flew away to Sicily. There he built a temple and on its walls hung up his wings forever.

He became so proud of his own success that he believed no one else could invent anything. He was willing, though, to teach others all he knew, and sister, living near, sent her son, Perdix, to him to learn what he could.

This boy was quick to see, to hear, and to learn, and he could invent things himself.

One day when Daedalus was slowly cutting through a log with an ax, the boy showed him how much quicker he could do it with a saw he had made. No one had ever heard of a saw before, and Daedalus was angry.

"Who told you how to make this?" he asked.

"I brought home yesterday the backbone of a great fish cast up by the sea, and I made this like it, but of iron; that is all," said Perdix.

Another time Daedalus was trying to draw a perfect circle. Thirteen times he tried and failed.

"Take my irons, if you will not be angry with me," said Perdix, and he handed him a pair of compasses.

Here again was something no man had ever seen. But Daedalus, instead of being proud of his nephew, was angrier than before.

"You will be claiming that you are greater than Daedalus, who first sailed through the air, ungrateful boy," said his uncle.

"I have only tried to help you," answered Perdix.

Not long after this, when the two were in a tall building, Daedalus gave Perdix a push that sent him headlong toward the ground. The goddess Minerva, who loves learning, saw him falling and changed him into a partridge before he touched the earth. Unlike Daedalus, he has always kept his wings.

Perdix, the partridge, builds his nest low on the ground and stays in low branches. Perhaps he is afraid he may not be saved from another fall if he goes again into high places.

JUNO'S BIRD, THE PEACOCK

_Roman_

"Oh, isn't it a pity the peacock doesn't know that he can't sing? Why doesn't he stop that fearful screeching?"

Little Katie put her hands over her ears to keep out the sound.

"You know the peacock was once an animal that hasn't a very sweet voice," said Jack.

"No, I don't know, but Charlie Green's pet donkey makes a better noise than this bird. There, I am glad he has stopped."

"Shall I tell you a story?" asked Jack.

"Once upon a time a donkey felt that he was much abused just because his coat was rough and his face and shape were so homely; so he begged of Jupiter to make him into something beautiful. In a short time he was changed into a peacock and, looking down upon his fine feathers, began to sing. But, oh, the trouble he was in then! He had forgotten to have his voice changed, too, and it was the same old donkey voice that he had always had."

"That's a funny story, Jack. It seems to me that mother told us that a long time ago."

"Then I know another story of how the eyes came into the peacock's feathers."

"You are a queer boy, Jack. Those eyes were always there."

"Oh, no, they were not, Kate. You watch the young peacock chickens, and I'll prove my story, or part of it, anyway. Don't you remember that at first they are a dull brown, and then, when they are about a year old, they begin to show a little green? They are three years old before the eyes begin to show in the feathers. You are a queer girl to forget that."

"Well, tell your story, and I will see if it is a good one." So Jack began:

"Argus was a watchman. His great eyes were like green balls, but with fifty little eyes in each. Yes, he had a hundred eyes, and never more than two went to sleep at once. He could see even better in the night than in the daytime, so he was a fine watchman.

"Once Argus was told to watch a certain prisoner who could not be shut in a room, but had to be left in a field. Not once was he to lose sight of this prisoner. If he did, every one of his hundred eyes would be taken from him.

"Day and night Argus watched, never sleeping except with two eyes at a time. He was as faithful as fifty soldiers.

"But he loved music, and the friends of the prisoner knew it. So they sent some one to him who could play upon the harp and sing, thinking that perhaps Argus might be charmed to sleep.

"This player's name was Mercury, and he was so quick that some thought he wore wings on his feet. If he did wear them, he could take them off when he liked, for he was just a plain shepherd in a sheepskin coat and sheepskin sandals when Argus saw him.

"If he had come with a spear, or with bow and arrow, Argus would have been ready to keep him out, but Mercury was too bright for that.

"No, he was just a plain shepherd, and he sat down in a field near the one Argus was in, to watch his sheep. While he sat there, he played such sweet music that Argus said, 'Bring your sheep into my field and we will watch together.'

"That was just what Mercury had planned. So he was not very long in getting his sheep into the field with Argus. There the two lay in the shade of the trees and told stories, and Mercury played and watched the green eyes of Argus, while Argus watched the prisoner.

"One night Mercury played so softly, so sweetly, that for one minute every one of the hundred green eyes of Argus closed, the watchman nodded, and in that minute Mercury struck him on the neck and cut off his head. Then the prisoner was free. Juno took the green eyes of Argus and put them on her pet bird, the peacock."

"Oh, Jack, I don't believe a word of it."

"I don't, either," said Jack, "but these stories are both more than two thousand years old, and I shouldn't wonder if some one did believe them a long time ago."

THE GIFT OF THE OLIVE TREE

_Greek_

"Has everything a name, father?" asked a wide-awake boy one day.

"Everything I know of has a name," answered the father.

"What is the name of this stone, then?"

"The name of the stone you have just picked up happens to be granite."

"I believe you made that up, father, just because I asked you so quickly. Really is it granite? Has a rock a name?"

"Why, certainly, my boy. It seems strange that a boy of ten does not know granite when he sees it."

"But you lived in the country, father, when you were a boy, and I have been here hardly a month. Oh, here is another kind of stone; what is this?"

The father cracked the bit of rock so as to get a fresh surface and then answered:

"Common white quartz, Harold. You are giving me easy specimens, which is lucky for both of us."

"Why, father, where did you learn all their names?"

"I don't know all their names. I know only the most common ones. To find the names of some kinds of rock or stone I should need quite an outfit, such as you may have seen in the high-school laboratory."

"Do all the flowers have names, too, father?"

"Harold, if you could find a flower that has not been named you would become quite famous. The flower probably would be named after you. Think of that! There is something to work for; and you were wishing only last night that you could be a famous man."

"Where did all the flowers get their names? Did the teachers name them?"

"Oh, I suspect the teachers named some, and many people helped them. I don't believe I ever stopped to think that it is curious that everything on the earth and in the sea and in the sky is named. You are a very thoughtful boy, Harold. Ask all the questions you please."

This praise from his quiet father made Harold happier than anything in the world. He was silent a moment, but then asked:

"Have the stars names, too, father? I mean all of them. I know those large ones have, for you told me."

"Yes, Harold, every star has a name of some kind. Some of them have only a letter or a number. But that answers for a name, you know."

"And all the animals, and all the birds, and all the beetles, and all the--everything! I'll have to go to school just all my life!"

And then Mr. Hadley laughed aloud.

"To-day, father, in the geography class, I learned about many cities, and there are more in the large geography. Do you know how any of the cities got their names?"

"What country were you studying about to-day, Harold?"

"It was about Greece, and some of the cities had such long hard names that I can't remember them. Oh, yes, now I remember Athens. Why, father, you were there once, for I have heard you tell about Greece; and one of the pictures in the parlor is named 'In Athens.' Do tell me something about the place, for I can't make it seem like a real city like New York or Chicago."

"Do you like olives, Harold?"

"Yes, indeed, I do, and you like olive oil. Oh, of course, olives grow in Greece. I couldn't think what made you ask such a queer question. Now tell me about Greece, won't you, please? Is it a beautiful country?"

"Yes, and I'll tell you a tale of the sea, of olives, and of Athens, all in one. You remember that beautiful head of Minerva, which is near my book-shelf, do you not? Minerva has another name. She is often called Athena. She was known to the ancient people of Greece as the goddess of wisdom and learning. Can you remember the name of the king of the sea?"

"Neptune, father. You have his picture, too, haven't you?"

"Yes, Harold, but now you must learn the name by which the Greeks called him. It was Poseidon. The story goes that Athena and Poseidon were each very anxious to name a certain city in Greece.

"Jupiter said that he would let the one who brought the greatest gift to the people have the honor of naming the place. And then such strife began as you can hardly imagine. Poseidon put his wits at work and called together all his friends for counsel. At last his gift was ready for the day on which they were to appear before Jupiter.

"Minerva, as she was the goddess of wisdom, needed no such help as Poseidon had asked and received. Her plans were ready in a moment and she was waiting for the great day.