lost wife than of the children she had left him. Heron scratched
the bird's knowing little head, saying in a tone which betrayed his pity
both for himself and his pet "Yes, old fellow, you would rather have a
soft white finger to stroke you down. I can hear her now, when she would
call you 'sweet little pet,' or 'dear little creature.' We shall neither
of us ever hear such gentle, loving words again. Do you remember how
she would look up with her dear sweet face--and was it not a lovely
face?--when you called her by her name 'Olympias'? How many a time have
her rosy lips blown up your feathers, and cried, 'Well done, little
fellow! '--Ay, and she would say 'Well done' to me too, when I had
finished a piece of work well. Ah, and what an eye she had, particularly
for art! But now well, the children give me a good word too, now that
her lips are silent!"

"Olympias!" cried the bird loudly and articulately, and the clouds that
shadowed the gem-cutter's brow lifted a little, as with an affectionate
smile he went on:

"Yes, yes; you would be glad, too, to have her back again. You call her
now, as I did yesterday, standing by her grave--and she sends you her
love.

"Do you hear, little one? Peck away at the old man's finger; he knows
you mean it kindly, and it does not hurt. I was all alone out there, and
Selene looked down on us in silence. There was rioting and shouting all
round, but I could hear the voice of our dead. She was very near me, and
her sad soul showed me that she still cared for me. I had taken a jar of
our best wine of Byblos under my cloak; as soon as I had poured oil on
her gravestone and shed some of the noble liquor, the earth drank it up
as though it were thirsty. Not a drop was left. Yes, little fellow, she
accepted the gift; and when I fell on my knees to meditate on her, she
vouchsafed replies to many of my questions.

"We talked together as we used--you know. And we remembered you, too; I
gave you her love.

"You understand me, little fellow, don't you? And, I tell you, better
times are coming now."

He turned from the bird with a sharp movement of annoyance, for the
slave-woman came in with the bowl of barley-porridge.

"You!" exclaimed Heron, in surprise. "Where is Melissa?"

"She will come presently," said the old woman, in a low and doubtful
tone.

"Oh, thanks for the oracle!" said the artist, ironically.

"How you mock at a body!" said the old woman. "I meant--But eat
first--eat. An