“Is something goin’ to happen?”
“There, don’t you worry, darlin’. It won’t be you,” said the old nurse as she hurried away.
Dryas had rescued enough stones to recommence his threshing-floor. To tell truth, he had preferred this all along.
Theria sat beside him watching his play. The “something” was not going to happen to herself. Then surely it would happen to Dryas. Her heart began to yearn over her brother with that frightened tenderness which children know. She leaned over and kissed him. Dryas wiped off the kiss in frank disgust.
“Don’t,” he said.
She remembered the eagle. There was no bird so sure of omen as an eagle.
“Dryas,” she said softly, “I’ll tell you a story now.”
“No—please.”
Yet Theria lingered. Dreadful it was that she could do nothing for her brother when the eagle would so soon be carrying him away.
“I wish you would let me,” she said faintly. “I’ll give you all my honey cake at noon if you will.”