2. "Why do you refuse me water?" said she; "water is free to all. Nature allows no one to claim as property the sunshine, the air, and the water; I come to take my share of the common blessing. Yet I ask it of you as a favor. I only desire to quench my thirst. My mouth is so dry that I can hardly speak. A draught of water would revive me, and I would own myself indebted to you for life itself. Let these infants move your pity, who stretch out their little arms as if to plead for me."
3. Who would not have been moved with the gentle words of the goddess? But these clowns would not desist; they even added jeers and threats of violence if she did not leave the place. Nor was this all; they waded into the pond, and stirred up the mud with their feet, so as to make it unfit to drink.
4. Latona was so angry that she lifted up her voice to Heaven and cried out, "May they never quit that pool, but pass their lives there!" And so it came to pass. They now live in the water, sometimes below and sometimes with their heads above the surface. Sometimes they come out on the bank, but soon leap again into the water. They still use their bass voices in railing, and, though they have the water all to themselves, they still croak about it. Their voices are harsh, their throats bloated, their mouths have stretched, their necks have disappeared, and their heads are joined directly to their bodies. Their backs are green, their huge bellies white, and they leap instead of walking. Have you seen anything like them?
II.—THE MUSIC OF PAN.
1. Pan, the earth-god, had great skill in music, and he performed upon his pipes in a wonderful way. Everybody praised him, and he grew so vain that he thought no one could equal him, and he sent a challenge to Apollo, the god of the lyre, to a trial of skill. The challenge was accepted, and Imolus, the mountain-god, was chosen umpire. Imolus cleared away the trees from his ears, to listen. At a given signal, Pan blew his pipes, and his rustic melody greatly pleased himself and his followers.
2. Then Imolus turned his head toward the sun-god, and all the trees turned with him. Apollo rose: in his left hand he held the lyre, and with his right hand struck the strings. The music was truly heavenly, and Imolus at once awarded the victory to the god of the lyre. All agreed with him except old King Midas, who happened to be present. He questioned the decision of the umpire, and declared that Pan's music was the best. Apollo would not permit such a depraved pair of ears any longer to wear the human form, but caused them to grow out long, and to become hairy within and without, and movable at the roots. So the old king, as long as he lived, wore the ears of a donkey.
III.—BAUCIS AND PHILEMON.
1. On a certain hill in Phrygia stand a linden-tree and an oak. Not far from the spot are a marsh, and a lake which was once the site of a thriving village. Once on a time, Jupiter, in human shape, and Mercury, without his wings, paid a visit to this country, and, after a weary day's walk, they reached the village about nightfall. Here they applied for shelter in vain. Everywhere they were driven away with insults, and even, in some places, the dogs were set upon them. At last they reached the outskirts of the village, where stood a humble thatched cottage. Here Baucis, a pious old dame, and her husband Philemon, united when young, had grown old together.
2. One need not look here for master or for servant; they two were the whole household, master and servant alike. Here the two travelers found rest. As they crossed the humble threshold, and bowed their heads to pass under the low door, the old man placed a seat, and Baucis set about preparing them some food. She raked out the coals, kindled up the fire with dry sticks, and with her scanty breath blew it into a flame. Her husband gathered pot-herbs from the garden, and cut a slice of bacon from the flitch in the chimney, which Baucis quickly prepared for the pot. She then filled a beechen bowl with clean water for her guests to wash, keeping up a pleasant talk all the time.