“Yes, clouds were their food,” went on Theria who knew the tale by rote. “For they were the herd of Apollo. And the little baby called the cows and they left their white flowers and came; for who can resist the call of a god? And Hermes, swift of foot——”
“Three-hours-old foot,” interposed Dryas.
“—leaped down the path, and all the cows they followed him. And when he came to the deep forest he sacrificed the cows to his father, Zeus, and the smoke went up through the trees to heaven and smelt very sweet. Then Hermes found a tortoise, and out of the tortoise and the cows’ pretty horns he made a lyre—oh, the first, first lyre that ever was made. And the baby Hermes began to play on the lyre—
‘Twink, twink,
Twinky, twink, twink’
—Oh, god-music, as pretty as Father plays or Pindar when he——”
“Here, here!” came an unexpected voice. “It’s very well to compare Pindar to Hermes but your father is another matter.”
The children scrambled to their feet with faces of delight. It was rare to see their father at this hour. And Father always brought gaiety.