“I wish it showed whether marble is found there,” he said. “Do you suppose Syracuse would furnish bronze?”
Nikander clapped him on the shoulder, laughing.
“Oh, incorrigible sculptor, what did you promise me?” he asked.
Eëtíon blushed like a boy. “In the new city,” he pleaded, “surely my fault will be overlooked.”
“As leader in the new city,” responded Nikander, “you should set an example to all.”
“Isn’t that rather an undertaking, Nikander?” sighed the rueful artist.
But Theria took Eëtíon’s brown, skilful hand in hers.
“Nay, Father,” she said defensively. “Deny him not. He is a born sculptor, his gift is from the gods. We cannot stop it. As for me, I have been inquiring among the colonists. I have found several bronze workers, and workers of marble. These shall be Eëtíon’s helpers.”