ust thinning. Niobe picked her way amongst the vegetable
women, fought off a boy who thrust on her a pair of geese, and found in a
quiet corner by a temple porch the booth of Dion, who grinned with his
toothless gums in way of greeting. He listened with paternal interest to
her story, soothed her when she sniffled at Procles's name, and made her
show her silver, then began pulling over his bags and vials of strange
powders and liquids.

"Ah, kind Master Dion," began Niobe, for the sixth time, "if only some
philtre could make Procles loath that abominable Jocasta!"

"_Eu! eu!_" muttered the old sinner, "it's hard to say what's best,--powder
of toad's bone or the mixture of wormwood and adder's fat. The safest
thing is to consult the god--"

"What do you mean?"

"Why, my holy cock here, hatched at Delphi with Apollo's blessings on
him." Dion pointed with his thumb to the small coop at his feet. "The
oracle is simple. You cast before him two piles of corn; if he picks at
the one to right we take toad's bone, to left the adder's fat. Heaven will
speak to us."

"Excellent," cried Niobe, brightening.

"But, of course, we must use only consecrated corn, that's two obols
more."

Niobe's face fell. "I've only this half-drachma."

"Then, _philotata_," said Dion, kindly but firmly, "we had better wait a
little longer."

Niobe wept. "_Ai!_ woe. 'A little longer' and Jocasta has Procles. I can't
ask Hermione again for money. _Ai! ai!_"

Two round tears did not move Dion in the slightest. Niobe was sobbing, at
her small wits' end, when a voice sounded behind her.

"What's there wrong, lass? By Zeus, but you carry a handsome child!"

Niobe glanced, and instantly stopped weeping. A young man dressed roughly
as a sailor, and with long black hair and beard, had approached her, but
despite dress and beard she was quite aware he was far handsomer than even
Procles.

"I beg pardon, _kyrie_,"--she said "_kyrie_" by instinct,--"I'm only an
honest maid. Dion is terribly extortionate." She cast down her eyes,
expecting instant succour from the susceptible seaman, but to her disgust
she saw he was admiring only the babe, not herself.

"Ah! Gods and goddesses, what a beautiful child! A girl?"

"A boy," answered Niobe, almost sullenly.

"Blessed the house in Troezene then that can boast of such a son."

"Oh, he's not Troezenian, but one of the exiles from Athens," volunteered
Dion, who kept all the tittle-tattle of the little