“Then consider yourself a blighted idiot,” replied the Deputy indiscreetly, getting ready to dodge a thunderbolt.
“So I do,” said Zeus, who never was very expected. “Go away, and send me some one else to be angry with. You’re stale.”
The Deputy Cloud-controller had found some difficulty in getting any one to go.
“What am I to do, Mr. Ganymede?” said the Deputy despairingly. “They all say that it’s more than their lives are worth. And the females won’t stand his language. I must send some one, or I shall get discharged in real earnest.”
“Well, pussonally,” said Ganymede, “I should be very glad to oblige you, but leave this ’ere glass and plate I can’t. Now, there’s the Clerk of the Curses. He’s pretty tough. Why don’t you send him?”
“So I would,” said the Deputy, “but he’s away on his holiday.”
“Then there’s the Earth-child,” suggested Ganymede, looking a little ashamed of himself.
No one quite knew how the Earth-child had come among the gods. There must have been a mistake somewhere; it was pretty generally known that she was to have been born in Arcadia. There was something of a scandal about it, too. But there she was, generally petted and liked, and happy enough among the gods.
“Yes, there’s the Earth-child,” said the Deputy, and he too looked a little ashamed of himself. They talked together a little while longer, and then the Deputy went away, suffering badly from conscience.
A few minutes afterwards the Earth-child walked fearlessly into the hall where Zeus was seated. She had red hair, and an intelligent face. She was bright, and affectionate, and twelve years old, and not afraid of anything.