ch other as if they had served under the same sky for years.

"We were listening to music," said the old chief, "when you came up.
Some of our young men have gone up, indeed, to the picket yonder, to
hear the harper sing, whose voice you catch sometimes, when we are not
speaking."

"You find the Muses in the midst of arms, then," said one of the young
Ionians.

"Muses?" said the old Philistine, laughing. "That sounds like you
Greeks. Ah! sir, in our rocks here we have few enough Muses, but those
who carry these lances, or teach us how to trade with the islands for
tin."

"That's not quite fair," cried another. "The youngsters who are gone
sing well; and one of them has a harp I should be glad you should see.
He made it himself from a gnarled olive-root." And he turned to look for
it.

"You'll not find it in the tent: the boy took it with him. They hoped
the Ziklag minstrel might ask them to sing, I suppose."

"A harp of olive-wood," said the Ionian, "seems Muse-born and
Pallas-blessed."

And, as he spoke, one of the new-comers of the Philistines leaned over,
and whispered to the chief: "He is a bard himself, and we made him
promise to sing to us. I brought his harp with me that he might cheer up
our bivouac. Pray, do you ask him."

The old chief needed no persuasion; and the eyes of the whole force
brightened as they found they had a minstrel "of their own" now, when
the old man pressed the young Ionian courteously to let them hear him:
"I told you, sir, that we had no Muses of our own; but we welcome all
the more those who come to us from over seas."

Homer smiled; for it was Homer whom he spoke to,--Homer still in the
freshness of his unblinded youth. He took the harp which the young
Philistine handed to him, thrummed upon its chords, and as he tuned them
said: "I have no harp of olive-wood; we cut this out, it was years ago,
from an old oleander in the marshes behind Colophon. What will you hear,
gentlemen?"

"The poet chooses for himself," said the courtly old captain.

"Let me sing you, then, of _the Olive Harp_"; and he struck the chords
in a gentle, quieting harmony, which attuned itself to his own spirit,
pleased as he was to find music and harmony and the olive of peace in
the midst of the rough bivouac, where he had come up to look for war.
But he was destined to be disappointed. Just as his prelude closed, one
of the young soldiers turned upon his elbow, and whispered
contemptuously to his neig