Charmides snatched a handful of figs and rolled out of the tent squealing with joy. Menon came after him, laughing, and Glaucon followed to care for them. "The sun is setting," said Menon. "It will soon be dark, and to-morrow are the games. They will keep us busy when they begin, so you must use your eyes to-day if you want to see the fair."
He stopped on the hillside and looked down into the sacred place.
"It is wonderful!" he said, half to himself. "The home of glory! I love every stone of it. I have not been here since I myself won the single race. And now my son is to win it. That was when you were a baby, Charmides."
"I know, father," whispered the boy with shining eyes. "I have kissed your olive wreath, where it hangs above our altar at home."
The father put his hand lovingly on the boy's yellow head.
"By the help of Hermes there soon will be a green one there for you to kiss, lad. The gods are very good to crown our family twice."
"I wish there were crowns for lame boys to win," said Charmides. "I would win one!"
He said that fiercely and clenched his fist. His father looked kindly into his eyes and spoke solemnly.
"I think you would, my son. Perhaps there are such crowns."
They started on thoughtfully and soon were among the crowd. There were a hundred interesting sights. They passed an outdoor oven like a little round hill of stones and clay. The baker was just raking the fire out of the little door on the side. Charmides waited to see him put the loaves into the hot cave. But before it was done a horn blew and called him away to a little table covered with cakes.