Theria climbed the chest and got it.
And in possession of these things confidence came to her. She was perfectly sure now that she should go to school. She began to hum briskly to herself. She went back into the court to be near Dryas lest when Medon come he forget her.
Dryas was prancing about, hugging his lyre. He was not slow to taunt her.
“Ai: I’m going to school. You can’t go; you can’t go!”
“I can. Father said I could. I heard him.”
“When did he say it?”
“I don’t know when, but I heard him! ‘Daughter, you are going to school; you are seven years old! Everybody goes to school then.’”
“He didn’t give you the lyre. He gave it to me,” gloried Dryas.
“I’ve a lyre, too, foolish one.” She held it out.
“Ai, what a broken thing, and it’s Lycophron’s. It’s none of yours.”