After that something will remain for you to do: You will have to
punish those wooers who destroy the goods your father gathered and who
insult his house by their presence. And when all these things have been
done, you, Telemachus, will be free to seek out your own fortune: you
will rise to fame, for I mark that you are handsome and strong and most
likely to be a wise and valiant man. But now I must fare on my journey.'

The stranger rose up from where he sat and went with Telemachus from the
hall and through the court and to the outer gate. Telemachus said: 'What
you have told me I shall not forget. I know you have spoken out of a
wise and a friendly heart, and as a father to his son.'

The stranger clasped his hands and went through the gate. And then, as
he looked after him Telemachus saw the stranger change in his form. He
became first as a woman, tall, with fair hair and a spear of bronze in
her hand. And then the form of a woman changed too. It changed into a
great sea-eagle that on wide wings rose up and flew high through the
air. Telemachus knew then that his visitor was an immortal and no other
than the goddess Athene who had been his father's friend.

III

When Telemachus went back to the hall those who were feasting there had
put the wine-cups from them and were calling out for Phemius, the
minstrel, to come and sing some tale to delight them. And as he went
amongst them one of the wooers said to another, 'The guest who was with
him has told Telemachus something that has changed his bearing. Never
before did I see him hold himself so proudly. Mayhap he has spoken to
him of the return of his father, the renowned Odysseus.'

Phemius came and the wooers called upon him to sing them a tale. And the
minstrel, in flowing verse, began the tale of the return of the Kings
and Princes from Troy, and of how some god or goddess put a trouble upon
them as they left the City they had taken. And as the minstrel began the
tale, Penelope, Telemachus' lady-mother, was coming down the stairs with
two hand-maids beside her. She heard the words he sang, and she stood
still in her grief and drew her veil across her face. 'O Phemius,' she
cried, 'cease from that story that ever wastes my heart--the story that
has brought me sorrow and that leaves me comfortless all my days! O
Phemius, do you not know other tales of men and gods that you might sing
in this hall for the delight of my noble wooers?'

The minstrel would ha