So she took wheat, barley, millet, poppy seed, vetches, lentils, and beans, mixed them up together, and said:—
“Sort out every seed into its proper heap before evening. If you can do that, you shall not be scourged again.”
Psyche sat down before her task in silent despair, crushed in heart, and aching in every limb. She could only pray that death would come to her before nightfall; for she could not bear the thought of those cruel scourges. And so she sat motionless until a little white ant, taking more pity on her than Ceres or Juno, called together his whole tribe, who sorted out the heap, grain by grain, into proper parcels, in no time, and then ran away.
Judge of the surprise of Venus when she found the work done. “Somebody has helped you!” said she. But she could not order her to be scourged, the work being done; so she threw her a piece of coarse bread for supper, and had her shut up in a wretched shed till day.
In the morning Venus came to her again. “Do you see yonder sheep, with golden fleeces, wandering without a shepherd? Go and bring me a piece of their wool, that you may escape another scourging.”
Psyche set out, not to get the wool, but to drown herself in the river that ran along the meadow where the sheep were feeding. She was about to leap into the water, when one of the reeds spoke to her, and said, murmuring:—
“Pollute not these pure waters by thy death, nor yet venture to approach yonder sheep during the heat of the sun; for they are fierce and savage, and they will slay thee with their horns. But when they are resting towards evening, creep into the meadow, and collect the wool that has clung to the bushes.”
Thus Psyche brought to Venus a whole lapful of golden wool. “Somebody has helped you!” again said the goddess, angrily. But she had to keep her word.
Still she could not bring herself to believe that Psyche could have performed these tasks unaided. She strongly suspected Cupid, though she kept him closely shut up in his chamber, making believe that his scalded shoulder still wanted careful nursing, for fear lest he might come across Psyche. She was quite sure he had never left his chamber for a moment. Nevertheless she resolved to send Psyche next time where not Love himself could follow or help her.
“Do you see yonder mountain-peak?” she said to her next morning. “From that peak falls a black fountain, as cold as ice. Take this urn, fill it with the cold black water, and bring it to me.”