ng; memories of the days when she herself was
a little girl and Phaon had played with her daily, as the curly-headed
Syrus now did with the herdsman's daughter.

But all the scenes swiftly conjured up before her mental vision were
very different from that just witnessed.

Once, when she had said that the brook couldn't bear to the sea all the
leaves and flowers she tossed in, Phaon only smiled quietly, but the
next day she found, fastened to an axis, a wooden cross he had carved
himself and fixed between some stones The stream swept against the broad
surfaces of the spokes and forced it to turn constantly.

For weeks both enjoyed the successful toy, but he did not ask a word
of thanks, nor did she utter any, only eagerly showed her pleasure, and
that was enough for Phaon.

If she began to build a house of sand and stones with him, and it was
not finished at once, when they went to play next day she found it
roofed and supplied with a little garden, where twigs were stuck in the
sand for trees, and red and blue buds for flowers. He had made the seat
by the spring for her, and also the little steps on the seashore, by
whose aid it was possible to enter dryshod the boat her playfellow had
painted with brilliant hues of red and blue, because a neighbor's gay
skiff had pleased her fancy.

She now thought of these and many similar acts, and that he had never
promised her anything, only placed the finished article before her as a
matter of course.

It had never entered his mind to ask compensation for his gifts or
thanks for his acts, like curly-headed Syrus. Silently he rendered her
service after service; but, unfortunately, at this hour Xanthe was not
disposed to acknowledge it.

People grow angry with no one more readily than the person from whom
they have received many favors which they are unable to repay; women,
no matter whether young or old, resemble goddesses in the fact that they
cheerfully accept every gift from a man as an offering that is their
due, so long as they are graciously disposed toward the giver, but
to-day Xanthe was inclined, to be vexed with her playmate.

A thousand joys and sorrows, shared in common, bound them to each other,
and in the farthest horizons of her recollections lay an event which
had given her affection for him a new direction. His mother and hers had
died on the same day, and since then Xanthe had thought it her duty
to watch over and care for him, at first, probably, only as