uting her name. In the next moment little Papias
had rushed rapturously into her arms and, as she lifted him up, had
thrown his hands round her neck, clinging to her as if he would never
leave go again, while she hugged him closely for joy, and kissed him with
her eyes full of tears. She was herself again at once; the sad and
anxious girl was the lively Dada once more.

The man who had been leading the little boy was immediately besieged with
questions, and from his answers they learnt that he had found the child
the evening before at the corner of a street, crying bitterly; that he
had taken him home, and with some little difficulty had ascertained from
him that he belonged to some people who were living on board a barge,
close to a ship-yard. In spite of the excitement that prevailed he had
brought the child home as soon as possible, for he could fancy how
anxious his parents must be. Dada thanked the kind-hearted artisan with
sincere warmth, and the man, seeing how happy the girl and the child were
at having met, went his way quite satisfied.

Medius had stood by and had said nothing, but he looked on the pretty
little boy with much favor. If the earth were not to crumble into
nothingness after all, this child would be a real treasure trove; and
when Dada begged him to find a corner for Papias in his house, though he
hinted at the smallness of his earnings and the limited space at his
command, he yielded, if reluctantly, to her entreaties, on her offering
him her gold brooch to cover his expenses.

As they made their way back she cast many loving glances at the child;
she was extremely fond of him, and he seemed a link to bind her to her
own people.

CHAPTER XVII.

The singer's wife and daughter had joined some neighbors in sacrificing a
black lamb to Zeus, a ceremony that was usual on the occasion of
earthquakes or very severe storms; but it was done very secretly, for the
edicts prohibiting the sacrifice of victims to the gods were promptly and
rigidly enforced. The more the different members of the family came into
contact with other citizens, the more deeply rooted was their terror that
the end of all things was at hand. As soon as it was dark the old man
buried all his savings, for even if everyone else were to perish, he felt
that he--though how or why he knew not--might be exempt from the common
doom.

The night was warm, and great and small alike slept--or lay awake--under
the stars so as not to