Sometimes Nikander would linger along the road, meet Dryas, and, dismissing the pedagogue, would himself conduct the boy home.
Dryas was not always strong. Nikander summoned for him the best physicians from Athens and on his ill days would sit beside him patiently trying to ease the child. At such times Theria helped, knowing by that curious instinct of hers what to do. And when the pain was eased, Dryas would draw her face down and kiss her. Nikander was almost jealous of the love that Dryas gave to his twin sister. As he grew taller, however, Dryas grew also well and strong.
One winter evening Dryas and his slave boy were returning from the gymnasium, old Medon his pedagogue being lame and at home. All afternoon Dryas had been exercising. Then in the gymnasium he had stood under the pouring fountain, a chilly bath, and the slave boy had rubbed him to a glow. He was full of life and of a sense of waxing strength. Dreams of Olympian contests were in his heart as they were in the heart of every boy of Greece.
“Come,” said he to the slave. “Let’s go out the eastern road. You have the bow. Maybe we’ll bring down a hare.”
“It will grow dark soon,” ventured the slave. “And your father will be coming to meet you.”
“It won’t be dark,” answered Dryas. “Come, I say.”
So together they walked eastward on the hill road. They passed the row of outer temples and the hillside tombs. Sure enough, against all hope, a hare leaped across the road. Dryas shot it, and the slave fetched and slung it over his shoulder. Then they started back to town.
Twilight had fallen when they repassed the graves. The boys shrank close to each other. Both slave and free were afraid of the spirits which hovered there.
As they came to the roadside temples they saw a man dart quickly around a corner.