es.

As soon as she saw her, Mother Ceres knew that this was a queer kind
of person who was always grumbling and unhappy. Her name was Hecate,
and she would never say a word to other people unless they were
unhappy too. "I am sad enough," thought poor Ceres, "to talk with
Hecate:" so she stepped into the cave and sat down on the withered
leaves beside the dog-headed woman.

"O Hecate," she said, "if ever you lose a daughter you will know
what sorrow is. Tell me, for pity's sake, have you seen my poor child
Proserpina pass by the mouth of your cave?"

"No, Mother Ceres," answered Hecate. "I have seen nothing of your
daughter. But my ears, you know, are made so that all cries of
distress or fright all over the world are heard by them. And nine days
ago, as I sat in my cave, I heard the voice of a young girl sobbing
as if in great distress. As well as I could judge, some dragon was
carrying her away."

"You kill me by saying so," cried Mother Ceres, almost ready to faint;
"where was the sound, and which way did it seem to go?"

"It passed along very quickly," said Hecate, "and there was a rumbling
of wheels to the eastward. I cannot tell you any more. I advise
you just to come and live here with me, and we will be the two most
unhappy women in all the world."

"Not yet, dark Hecate," replied Ceres. "Will you first come with your
torch and help me to seek for my child. When there is no more hope
of finding her, then I will come back with you to your dark cave. But
till I know that Proserpina is dead, I will not allow myself time to
sorrow."

Hecate did not much like the idea of going abroad into the sunshine,
but at last she agreed to go, and they set out together, each carrying
a torch, although it was broad daylight and the sun was shining. Any
people they met ran away without waiting to be spoken to, as soon as
they caught sight of Hecate's wreath of snakes.

As the sad pair wandered on, a thought struck Ceres. "There is one
person," she exclaimed, "who must have seen my child and can tell
me what has become of her. Why did I not think of him sooner? It is
Phoebus."

"What!" said Hecate, "the youth that always sits in the sunshine! Oh!
pray do not think of going near him: he is a gay young fellow that
will only smile in your face. And, besides, there is such a glare of
sunshine about him that he will quite blind my poor eyes, which are
weak with so much weeping."

"You have promised to be my companion," ans