dard by which I measure all the queens of
earth, whether they wear crowns or not.

One day when we went over to play with Tom we saw a peacock for the
first time, and at supper became enthusiastic over the discovery. In
the midst of our rhapsodizing grandmother asked us if we knew how
those beautiful spots came to be in the feathers of the peacock. We
confessed our ignorance, and like Ajax, prayed for light. But we
soon became aware that our prayer would not be answered until after
the supper dishes had been washed. Our alacrity in proffering our
services is conclusive evidence that grandmother knew about
motivation whether she knew the word or not. We suggested the
omission of the skillets and pans for that night only, but the
suggestion fell upon barren soil, and the regular order of business
was strictly observed.

Then came the story, and the narrator made the characters seem
lifelike to us as they passed in review. There were Jupiter and
Juno; there were Argus with his hundred eyes, the beautiful heifer
that was Io, and the crafty Mercury. In rapt attention we listened
until those eyes of Argus were transferred to the feathers of the
peacock. If Mercury's story of his musical pipe closed the eyes of
Argus, grandmother's story opened ours wide, and we clamored for
another, as boys will do. Nor did we ask in vain, and we were soon
learning of the Flying Mercury, and how light and airy Mercury was,
seeing that an infant's breath could support him. After telling of
the wild ride of Phaeton and his overthrow, she quoted from John G.
Saxe:

"Don't set it down in your table of forces
That any one man equals any four horses.
Don't swear by the Styx!
It is one of old Nick's
Diabolical tricks
To get people into a regular 'fix,'
And hold 'em there as fast as bricks!"

Be it said to our credit that after such an evening dish-washing was
no longer a task, but rather a delightful prelude to another
mythological feast. We wandered with Ulysses and shuddered at
Polyphemus; we went in quest of the Golden Fleece, and watched the
sack of Troy; we came to know Orpheus and Eurydice and Pyramus and
Thisbe; and we sowed dragon's teeth and saw armed men spring up
before us. Since those glorious evenings with grandmother the
classic myths have been among my keenest delights. I read again and
again Lowell's extravaganza upon the story of Daphne, and can hear
grandmother's laugh over his delicious puns. I