"The boy's legs talk as freely as the arms and face of Pharetes, the pantomimist. He would make an actor, if trained," observed Apollonius.
"Or a dancer," replied the woman. "Let us see if he has learned to wiggle his calves rhythmically."
She sang a rollicking run of notes, accompanied with snapping her fingers and waving her arms, which tempted even Apollonius to give a few steps in his jingling armor. The boy only stared and grinned.
"Pshaw!" said the General, "the religion of these people is so dull that it rusts even their sinews. A Greek child would have danced on his hands and head at such singing. But, my dear, you should start to-morrow for Jerusalem. I will strike the miserable spawn of that priest Mattathias—Apollo, my namesake, being willing—within three days. Some ten thousand of us, each as valiant as Alexander himself, are only waiting to conquer these sand-hills in lieu of a larger world. We will drive the Jews into their holes and drown them in their own blood, and then move to the city. I fear that Menelaos, the High Priest, is scraping the bottom of every strong-box the Jews left, and if we do not hasten there will not be an obolo for us to buy grapes with."
His companion had become curiously interested in the lad.
"Do the boys and girls dress alike in this country?" she asked. "That child has the hips and shoulders of a woman."
The boy had evidently completed his bookkeeping, and hastily swallowing some of his wares, moved away. He sauntered awhile in the direction of the town, trying to keep two figs at a time in the air or to catch one in his mouth; then suddenly turned southward toward the eastern slope of Mount Gerizim, and, depositing his basket under a clump of bushes, ran southward as fast as his legs could carry him.