k to her beloved cave, frightening a great many little children with
a glimpse of her dog's face as she went.

Poor Mother Ceres! It is melancholy to think of her, pursuing her
toilsome way all alone, and holding up that never-dying torch, the flame
of which seemed an emblem of the grief and hope that burned together in
her heart. So much did she suffer that, though her aspect had been quite
youthful when her troubles began, she grew to look like an elderly
person in a very brief time. She cared not how she was dressed, nor had
she ever thought of flinging away the wreath of withered poppies which
she put on the very morning of Proserpina's disappearance. She roamed
about in so wild a way, and with her hair so dishevelled, that people
took her for some distracted creature, and never dreamed that this was
Mother Ceres, who had the oversight of every seed which the husband-man
planted. Nowadays, however, she gave herself no trouble about seed time
nor harvest, but left the farmers to take care of their own affairs, and
the crops to fade or flourish, as the case might be. There was nothing,
now, in which Ceres seemed to feel an interest, unless when she saw
children at play, or gathering flowers along the wayside. Then, indeed,
she would stand and gaze at them with tears in her eyes. The children,
too, appeared to have a sympathy with her grief, and would cluster
themselves in a little group about her knees, and look up wistfully in
her face; and Ceres, after giving them a kiss all round, would lead them
to their homes, and advise their mothers never to let them stray out of
sight.

"For if they do," said she, "it may happen to you, as it has to me, that
the iron-hearted King Pluto will take a liking to your darlings, and
snatch them up in his chariot, and carry them away."

One day, during her pilgrimage in quest of the entrance to Pluto's
kingdom, she came to the palace of King Celeus, who reigned at Eleusis.
Ascending a lofty flight of steps, she entered the portal, and found the
royal household in very great alarm about the queen's baby. The infant,
it seems, was sickly (being troubled with its teeth, I suppose), and
would take no food, and was all the time moaning with pain. The
queen--her name was Metanira--was desirous of finding a nurse; and when
she beheld a woman of matronly aspect coming up the palace steps, she
thought, in her own mind, that here was the very person whom she needed.
So Queen Metanira ran to t