of pity for so fair a tree, Rhoecus carefully propped up its
trunk, and as he did so he heard a soft voice murmur:--

"Rhoecus!"

It sounded like the gentle sighing of the wind through the leaves; and
while Rhoecus paused bewildered to listen, again he heard the murmur
like a soft breeze:--

"Rhoecus!"

And there stood before him, in the green glooms of the shadowy oak, a
wonderful maiden.

"Rhoecus," said she, in low-toned words, serene and full, and as clear
as drops of dew, "I am the Dryad of this tree, and with it I am doomed
to live and die. Thou hadst compassion on my oak, and in saving it thou
hast saved my life. Now, ask me what thou wilt that I can give, and it
shall be thine."

"Beauteous nymph," answered Rhoecus, with a flutter at the heart,
"surely nothing will satisfy the craving of my soul save to be with thee
forever. Give to me thy love!"

"I give it, Rhoecus," answered she with sadness in her voice, "though it
be a perilous gift. An hour before sunset meet me here."

And straightway she vanished, and Rhoecus could see nothing but the
green glooms beneath the shadowy oak. Not a sound came to his straining
ears but the low, trickling rustle of the leaves, and, from far away on
the emerald slope, the sweet sound of an idle shepherd's pipe.

Filled with wonder and joy Rhoecus turned his steps homeward. The earth
seemed to spring beneath him as he walked. The clear, broad sky looked
bluer than its wont, and so full of joy was he that he could scarce
believe that he had not wings.

Impatient for the trysting-time, he sought some companions, and to while
away the tedious hours, he played at dice, and soon forgot all else.

The dice were rattling their merriest, and Rhoecus had just laughed in
triumph at a happy throw, when through the open window of the room
there hummed a yellow bee. It buzzed about his ears, and seemed ready
to alight upon his head. At this Rhoecus laughed, and with a rough,
impatient hand he brushed it off and cried:--

"The silly insect! does it take me for a rose?"

But still the bee came back. Three times it buzzed about his head, and
three times he rudely beat it back. Then straight through the window
flew the wounded bee, while Rhoecus watched its fight with angry eyes.

And as he looked--O sorrow!--the red disk of the setting sun descended
behind the sharp mountain peak of Thessaly.

Then instantly the blood sank from his heart, as if its very walls had
caved in, f