ickedness and greed of
the wooers was made known to her, Athene grew very angry.

"Thou art in sore need of Odysseus," she said. "If Odysseus were to
come to the door now with lance in hand, soon would he scatter those
shameless ones before him."

Then she told Telemachus what he must do.

"To-morrow," said she, "call thy lords to a council meeting, and tell
the wooers to return to their homes."

For himself, she told him to fit out a ship with twenty oars-men, that
he might sail to a land where he should get tidings of his father.

"Thou art tall and handsome, my friend," she said. "Be brave, that
even in days to come men may praise thy name."

"Thou speakest as a father to a son. I will never forget what thou
hast said," said Telemachus.

He begged Athene to stay longer, and wished to give her a costly gift.
But she would not stay, nor accept any present. To Telemachus she had
given a gift, though he did not know it. For into his heart she had
put strength and courage, so that when she flew away like a beautiful
bird across the sea she left behind her, not a frightened, unhappy
boy, but a strong, brave man.

The wooers took no notice of the comings and goings of the strange
warrior, so busy were they with their noisy feast. As they feasted a
minstrel played to them on his lyre, and sang a song of the return of
the warriors from Troyland when the fighting was over.

From her room above, Penelope heard the song, and came down. For a
little, standing by the door, she listened. Then she could bear it no
longer, and, weeping, she said to the minstrel:

"Sing some other song, and do not sing a song of return from Troyland
to me, whose husband never returned."

Then Telemachus, in a new and manly way that made her wonder, spoke to
his mother:

"Blame not the minstrel, dear mother," he said. "It is not his fault
that he sings sad songs, but the fault of the gods who allow sad
things to be. Thou art not the only one who hast lost a loved one in
Troyland. Go back to thy room, and let me order what shall be, for I
am now the head of the house."

In the same fearless, manly way he spoke to the wooers:

"Ye may feast to-night," he said; "only let there be no brawling.
To-morrow meet with me. For once and for all it must be decided if ye
are to go on wasting my goods, or if I am to be master of my own house
and king in mine own land."

The wooers bit their lips with rage, and some of them answered him
rudely; bu