Hofus only the man might be!"

And the voice answered:--

"Be thou thyself!"

And straightway Hofus was himself again,--a poor stone-cutter, working
all day upon the mountain-side, and going home at night to his little
hut. But he was content and happy, and never again did he wish to be
other than Hofus the stone-cutter.

ARACHNE

BY JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY

There was a certain maiden of Lydia, Arachne by name, renowned
throughout the country for her skill as a weaver. She was as nimble with
her fingers as Calypso, that Nymph who kept Odysseus for seven years in
her enchanted island. She was as untiring as Penelope, the hero's wife,
who wove day after day while she watched for his return. Day in and
day out, Arachne wove too. The very Nymphs would gather about her loom,
Naiads from the water and Dryads from the trees.

"Maiden," they would say, shaking the leaves or the foam from their
hair, in wonder, "Pallas Athena must have taught you!"

But this did not please Arachne. She would not acknowledge herself a
debtor, even to that goddess who protected all household arts, and by
whose grace alone one had any skill in them.

"I learned not of Athena," said she. "If she can weave better, let her
come and try."

The Nymphs shivered at this, and an aged woman, who was looking on,
turned to Arachne.

"Be more heedful of your words, my daughter," said she. "The goddess may
pardon you if you ask forgiveness, but do not strive for honors with the
immortals."

Arachne broke her thread, and the shuttle stopped humming.

"Keep your counsel," she said. "I fear not Athena; no, nor any one
else."

As she frowned at the old woman, she was amazed to see her change
suddenly into one tall, majestic, beautiful,--a maiden of gray eyes and
golden hair, crowned with a golden helmet. It was Athena herself.

The bystanders shrank in fear and reverence; only Arachne was unawed and
held to her foolish boast.

In silence the two began to weave, and the Nymphs stole nearer, coaxed
by the sound of the shuttles, that seemed to be humming with delight
over the two webs,--back and forth like bees.

They gazed upon the loom where the goddess stood plying her task, and
they saw shapes and images come to bloom out of the wondrous colors, as
sunset clouds grow to be living creatures when we watch them. And they
saw that the goddess, still merciful, was spinning; as a warning for
Arachne, the pictures of her own triump