he
left of its saddle, wore bright cock's feathers on its head, and had a
fiery-red bridle. It looked gay enough in its finery, yet hung its head,
though far less sorrowfully than its young driver, whom Semestre had
exiled from his master's house and the girl he loved.

He spent half an hour in reaching the sanctuary.

Old Jason, at the same time, was standing before the little grove beside
the steps leading to the cella.

The worthy man cradled in his arms, as Dorippe had just done in
Lysander's house, a little squealing creature, and this, too, was a
pig; but it wore no ribbon around its little tail and ears, was not
particularly fat, and had numerous black spots under its scanty bristles
and on its sharp snout.

The old man was gazing at the innocent creature by no means tenderly,
but with the utmost indignation. He had good reason to be angry, for the
priest had not thought it fit for a sacrifice to the goddess, it was so
poor in fat and full of bad marks.

Alas, and Jason had no second pig, and was so eager to win the goddess
to Phaon's cause.

As soon as he saw Semestre's offering, he had hurried home to anticipate
her with his own, and first win the goddess's heart for his young
master.

Now he stood considering whether he should strangle the unlucky
creature, or carry it back to its mother.

Like a frugal steward, he decided upon the latter course, and, just as
he was comparing the image of the lean, spotted animal with its future
well-rounded condition, he heard the hoofs of the donkey driven by
Mopsus, the heavy thud of a stick on the elastic flesh, and after every
blow, the shout, "Semestre!"

Directly after Mopsus and his donkey reached the old man, and as the
youth, without looking to the right or left, dealt the animal another
thwack, again uttering the house-keeper's name, and in connection with
it a succession of harsh, abusive words, Jason looked at the young man
with approval, nay, almost tenderly.

The latter usually shouted a loud "Joy be with you!" whenever he met the
old man, but to-day answered his greeting only with a sorrowful nod and
low murmur.

The steward had stepped in front of him, laid his hard hand on the
donkey's head, and asked:

"Do you call your ass Semestre?" Mopsus blushed, and answered:

"In future I shall call all she-asses that, but the old Megaera named
this one Jason."

"Why, see," cried the steward, "how kindly the worthy woman remembers
me! But she, too,