aped on her, Aphrodite took a number of
bags containing wheat, barley, millet, and many other seeds, and,
tumbling them all into one heap, bade her separate and place them each
in its own bag by the evening.

Psyche stood staring where Aphrodite had left her, not even trying to
begin a task that she knew to be hopeless.

She would certainly be killed, thought she, but, after all, death would
be welcome; and she laid her weary body on the floor and sought sleep.
At that moment a tiny ant, which had been passing through the storehouse
on his way to the fields, and saw her terrible straits, went and fetched
all his brothers, and bade them take pity on the damsel, and do the work
that had been given to her.

By sunset every grain was sorted and placed in its own bag, but Psyche
waited with trembling the return of Aphrodite, as she felt that nothing
she could do would content her.

And so it happened, when Aphrodite entered, and thirsting for vengeance,
cried with glee, 'Well, where are my seeds?' Psyche pointed silently to
the row of bags against the wall, each with its mouth open, so that at
the first glance it could be seen what kind of seed it contained. The
goddess grew white with rage, and screamed loudly, 'Wretched creature,
it is not your hands that have done this! you will not escape my anger
so easily'; and, tossing her a piece of bread, went away, locking the
door behind her.

Next morning the goddess bade one of her slaves bring Psyche before her.

'In yonder grove,' she said, on the banks of a river, feed sheep whose
wool is soft as silk and as bright as gold. Before night I shall expect
you to return with as much of this wool as will make me a robe. And I do
not think that you will find any one to perform your task this time!'

So Psyche went towards the river, which looked so clear and cool that
she stepped down to the brink, meaning to lay herself to rest in its
waters. But a reed sang to her, and its song said:

[Illustration: APHRODITE FINDS PSYCHE'S TASK ACCOMPLISHED]

'O Psyche, do my bidding and fear nothing! Hide yourself till evening,
for the sheep are driven mad by the heat of the sun, and rush wildly
through the bushes and thickets. But when the air grows fresh they sink
exhausted to sleep, and you can gather all the wool you want from the
branches.'

[Illustration: JOYFULLY THE EAGLE BORE BACK THE URN]

Then Psyche thanked the reed for its counsel and brought the wool safely
back to the