d her father's house, Semestre's call and the gay
notes of a monaulus--[A musical instrument, played like our flageolet or
clarinet]--greeted her.

A conjurer had obtained admittance, and was showing his laughing
audience the tricks of his trained cocks and hens.

He was a dwarfish, bow-legged little man, with a short neck, on which
rested a big head with a very prominent forehead, that shaded his small
piercing eyes like a balcony.

The feathered actors lived in a two-wheeled cart, drawn from village to
village, and city to city, by a tiny, gayly-decked donkey.

Three cocks and four hens were now standing on the roof of the cart,
looking very comical, for their clever owner, who doubtless knew what
pleases the eyes of children and peasants, had colored their white
feathers, here and there, with brilliant red and glaring yellow.

Beside the cart stood a pale, sorrowful-looking boy, playing a merry
tune on the monaulus. Lysander, Xanthe's father, had been helped out of
the house into the sunlight, and, seated in his arm-chair of polished
olive-wood, was gazing at the show.

As soon as he saw his daughter, he beckoned to her, and stroking her
hair, while she pressed her lips to his forehead, said:

"An amusing sight! The two hens obey the little man as if they were
dutiful children. I'm glad he came, for a person like me, forbidden
by fate to enjoy the comical things to be seen out of doors, must be
grateful when they come in his way. Your feet are twitching, Dorippe.
Whenever a flute raises its voice, it moves young girls' limbs, as the
wind stirs the leaves of the poplars. You would doubtless like to begin
to dance at once."

At these words, Mopsus, keeping time to the music, advanced toward his
sweetheart, but Semestre stepped before him, exclaiming half to the lad
and half to her master:

"There must be no jumping about now. Whoever dances in the morning will
break a leg at night."

Lysander nodded assent.

"Then go into the house, Chloris, and fetch this king of hens a jug of
wine, some bread, and two cheeses."

"How many cheeses?" asked the housekeeper.

"Two," replied Lysander.

"One will be more than enough," cried Semestre--"Bring only one,
Chloris." The invalid smilingly shrugged his shoulders, clasped Xanthe's
hand as she stood beside him, and said in so low a tone that the old
woman could not hear:

"Haven't I grown like little thick-skull's hens? Semestre commands and I
must obey. There sh