ping his arm. "Do not you see you
are lost without me as your good angel? In this gold box I have a magic
potion which will do the dragon's business far more effectually than
your sword."

The dragon had probably heard the voices, for swift as lightning his
black head and forked tongue came hissing among the trees again, darting
full forty feet at a stretch. As it approached, Medea tossed the
contents of the gold box right down the monster's wide-open throat.
Immediately, with an outrageous hiss and a tremendous wriggle--flinging
his tail up to the tip-top of the tallest tree and shattering all its
branches as it crashed heavily down again--the dragon fell at full
length upon the ground and lay quite motionless.

"It is only a sleeping potion," said the enchantress to Prince Jason.
"One always finds a use for these mischievous creatures sooner or later;
so I did not wish to kill him outright. Quick! Snatch the prize and let
us begone. You have won the Golden Fleece."

Jason caught the fleece from the tree and hurried through the grove, the
deep shadows of which were illuminated as he passed, by the golden glory
of the precious object that he bore along. A little way before him he
beheld the old woman whom he had helped over the stream, with her
peacock beside her. She clapped her hands for joy, and beckoning him to
haste, disappeared among the duskiness of the trees. Espying the two
winged sons of the North Wind (who were disporting themselves in the
moonlight a few hundred feet aloft), Jason bade them tell the rest of
the Argonauts to embark as speedily as possible. But Lynceus, with his
sharp eyes, had already caught a glimpse of him, bringing the Golden
Fleece, although several stone walls, a hill, and the black shadows of
the Grove of Mars intervened between. By his advice the heroes had
seated themselves on the benches of the galley, with their oars held
perpendicularly, ready to let fall into the water.

As Jason drew near he heard the Talking Image calling to him with more
than ordinary eagerness, in its grave, sweet voice:

"Make haste. Prince Jason! For your life, make haste!"

With one bound he leaped aboard. At sight of the glorious radiance of
the Golden Fleece, the forty-nine heroes gave a mighty shout, and
Orpheus, striking his harp, sang a song of triumph, to the cadence of
which the galley flew over the water, homeward bound, as if careering
along with wings!

THE CYCLOPS

When the grea