She placed in the hand of Despard a dagger with a jewelled hilt, a quiver of poisoned arrows, and a glittering sword, with a blade sharper than a serpent’s tooth.
But to Goldilocks she gave a flask of smooth, fragrant oil, a vase of crystal-bright water, and a fan made of the feathers of the beautiful bird of Paradise.
Kissing the little pilgrims, she said,—
“These gifts have been saved for you these many years: use them as an inward voice shall whisper you: I give you my blessing. The gods attend you! Farewell.”
The children at first walked on sorrowfully; but soon the gay spirits of Goldilocks rebounded, and she waltzed hither and thither, like a morsel of thistle-down.
“See, brother,” said she, “we almost fly! What a glorious thing it is to go on a pilgrimage! I am glad the beautiful Silver Age has come, and Jupiter has given us leave to take a peep at the world!”
“All very well for you to say,” moaned Despard; “you flit about as if you had wings on your feet; while, as for me, it is true I move with equal speed, but so painfully that I wonder my footprints are not stained with blood.”
Soon the children observed, not far off, a party of youths rowing on the bosom of a lake. They sat in a rocking, unsteady little bark, but were in gay spirits, blowing bubbles, watching idle clouds, and throwing up empty shouts to be caught up and echoed by the hills.
“I wish we had not seen these happy people,” sighed Despard; “for, if you can believe me, sister, I really feel as if I must pelt them with my arrows.”
So saying, little Despard began to fire his poisonous darts at random.