Early next morning Nikander returned to the Precinct. The smoke of the Great Altar was lifting in a glorious column. Not one priest of Delphi but had promised gifts to the Far-Darter if he would but save them. And now they were offering those gifts.
Nikander mingled with the crowd on the temple platform. He was heavy hearted where all were gay. Old Akeretos was sitting on the temple steps worn out with hours of ritual. A little squat Delphic farmer was talking to him. Near by stood two cloaked females.
“And, Akeretos,” said the eager little man, as if driving a bargain, “you can’t get any better anywhere. The two of ’em at once and portents to both of ’em.”
“Bring them here,” said the old shrine president.
The man pushed the two females to the front and without ceremony flicked off their veils.
He showed two girls as alike as two peas. They were peasant-built but flabby. Their faces, brown because the sun had made them so, had somehow a look of paleness under the brown. The eyes of both were large and haunted as if with ill-health. They were simpering with the excitement.
“Hyeroche, here, is the oldest,” went on the farmer. “Before she was born my wife had a dream. Any of the neighbours can tell ye, for, Paian help us, she told it enough! She dreamed that she was searchin’ for her baby in the mountains, an’ she found it, a little weepin’ thing lyin’ on top of a milkin’ stool. She started to take it off of the milkin’ stool, but quick, the milkin’ stool shot up tall with its three legs, a very tripod, an’ she couldn’t reach the baby.
“Now I ain’t no reader of dreams. But what do ye think o’ that, Akeretos? Doesn’t it seem pointin’ the baby to be Pythia?”
Old Akeretos nodded. He was much impressed.
“An’ this other one here, Timo, before she was born, Paian help us, the same dream to her, too.”