“But none so glorious as this one, Mother. Oh, at first, when I have only a little hut, and hang this in it, it will be home. And, Mother, I’ll feel, when my babies are born and see this, that they will be seeing something that is really Delphi!—Delphi!”
“Perhaps other children,” ventured Melantho, “other children of the colony will see it, too. The town will be so poor and bare at first. Nothing beautiful, nothing——” Melantho was quite unresigned to Theria’s going, could see no possible reason for it.
“Yes,” Theria conceded. “It will be all of that, huts and mere shelters at first. But it will never look like that to me.”
“Yes, but the children who are too little to remember Delphi,” objected Melantho. “How will it look to them?”
“I will bring them to see this. Yes, I will. Until our temples are built and my dear Eëtíon makes statues of gods and men. Only think, Mother, it will be your gift—the gift of your fingers—which will keep alive our heritage of beauty, until the town brings it to life again in itself.”
Many a long hour did Nikander, Eëtíon, and Theria together study the maps of the western colonies.
“You see,” said Nikander one day, “by this map how near Inessa lies to her unkind neighbour, Catana. That is a problem for you, Theria, for you also, Eëtíon.”
But Eëtíon was studying the map with knitted brows.