The wind had arisen and it was a black stormy night so they went to rest early, and Eumæus slept soundly till dawn. But all through the silent hours the brain of Ulysses worked like a shuttle in a loom.
At breakfast-time, while the swineherd was preparing the meal, the dogs began to bark loudly outside, but in a welcome manner, saluting one whom they knew.
Footsteps were heard crossing the yard, and a tall young man with the first down of manhood on his lip stood in the doorway.
Eumæus dropped the bowls in which he had been mixing the wine with a sudden clatter and ran towards the stranger.
“My young lord,” he cried, “oh, my young lord, the sight of you is a welcome one to weary eyes. Come within my poor place. This is but a poor old man who shelters with me for a day or two. Don’t mind him, my lord.”
It was Telemachus the son of Ulysses.
The king rose humbly and offered his seat to his son.
“Keep your place, old man,” said the prince. “The swineherd will find me another. And who may you be, and what do you in Ithaca?”
Then Ulysses told him a long story. He said that he was a Cretan, and had fought at Troy and was now destitute and a wanderer.
“Could you not take him to the palace, my lord?” said Eumæus. “Perhaps he might find some work there.”