School Reading By Grades: Fifth Year. James Baldwin

will pity the lad if he sees him come alone; and I wished to try whether he was fearless, and dare venture like a hero’s son. But now I entreat you, let the boy be your guest till better times, and train him among the sons of the heroes that he may become like them, strong and brave.”

      And Chiron answered: “Go back in peace and bend before the storm like a prudent man. This boy shall not leave me till he has become a glory to you and to your house.”

      And Æson wept over his son and went away; but the boy did not weep, so full was his fancy of that strange cave, and the Centaur, and his song, and the playfellows whom he was to see. Then Chiron put the lyre into his hands, and taught him how to play it, till the sun sank low behind the cliff, and a shout was heard outside. And then in came the sons of the heroes—Æneas, and Hercules, and Peleus, and many another mighty name.

      And great Chiron leaped up joyfully, and his hoofs made the cave resound, as they shouted, “Come out, Father Chiron; come out and see our game.” And one cried, “I have killed two deer,” and another, “I took a wild cat among the crags.” And Hercules dragged a wild goat after him by its horns; and Cæneus carried a bear cub under each arm, and laughed when they scratched and bit; for neither tooth nor steel could wound him. And Chiron praised them all, each according to his deserts.

      

      And then in came the sons of the heroes.

      Only one walked apart and silent, Æsculapius, the too wise child, with his bosom full of herbs and flowers, and round his wrist a spotted snake; he came with downcast eyes to Chiron, and whispered how he had watched the snake cast his old skin, and grow young again before his eyes, and how he had gone down into a village in the vale, and cured a dying man with a herb which he had seen a sick goat eat. And Chiron smiled and said:

      “To each there has been given his own gift, and each is worthy in his place. But to this child there has been given an honor beyond all honors—to cure while others kill.”

      Then some of the lads brought in wood, and split it, and lighted a blazing fire; and others skinned the deer and quartered them, and set them to roast before the fire; and while the venison was cooking they bathed in the snow torrent, and washed away the dust and sweat. And then all ate till they could eat no more—for they had tasted nothing since the dawn—and drank of the clear spring water, for wine is not fit for growing lads. And when the remnants were put away, they all lay down upon the skins and leaves about the fire, and each took the lyre in turn, and sang and played with all his heart.

      And after a while they all went out to a plot of grass at the cave’s mouth, and there they boxed, and ran, and wrestled, and laughed till the stones fell from the cliffs.

      Then Chiron took his lyre, and all the lads joined hands; and as he played, they danced to his measure, in and out, and round and round. There they danced hand in hand, till the night fell over land and sea, while the black glen shone with their broad white limbs, and the gleam of their golden hair.

      And the lad danced with them, delighted, and then slept a wholesome sleep, upon fragrant leaves of bay, and myrtle, and marjoram, and flowers of thyme; and rose at the dawn, and bathed in the torrent, and became a schoolfellow to the heroes’ sons. And in course of time he forgot Iolcus, and Æson his father, and all his former life. But he grew strong, and brave, and cunning, upon the rocky heights of Pelion, in the keen, hungry, mountain air. And he learned to wrestle, and to box, and to hunt, and to play upon the harp; and, next, he learned to ride, for old Chiron often allowed him to mount upon his back; and he learned the virtues of all herbs, and how to cure all wounds; and Chiron called him Jason the healer, and that is his name until this day.

      —From “The Heroes; or Greek Fairy Tales,” by Charles Kingsley.

THE DOG OF MONTARGIS.

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I

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      In the old castle of Montargis in France, there was once a stone mantelpiece of workmanship so rare that it was talked about by the whole country. And yet it was not altogether its beauty that caused people to speak of it and remember it. It was famous rather on account of the strange scene that was carved upon it. To those who asked about its meaning, the old custodian of the castle would sometimes tell the following story.

      It happened more than five hundred years ago, when this castle was new and strong, and people lived and thought in very different sort from what they do now. Among the young men of that time there was none more noble than Aubrey de Montdidier, the nephew of the Count of Montargis; and among all the knights who had favor at the royal court, there was none more brave than the young Sieur de Narsac, captain of the king’s men at arms.

      Now these two men were devoted friends, and whenever their other duties allowed them, they were sure to be in each other’s company. Indeed, it was a rare thing to see either of them walking the streets of Paris alone.

      “I will meet you at the tournament to-morrow,” said Aubrey gayly, one evening, as he was parting from his friend.

      “Yes, at the tournament to-morrow,” said De Narsac; “and be sure that you come early.”

      The tournament was to be a grand affair. A gentleman from Provence was to run a tilt with a famous Burgundian knight. Both men were noted for their horsemanship and their skill with the lance. All Paris would be out to see them.

      When the time came, De Narsac was at the place appointed. But Aubrey failed to appear. What could it mean? It was not at all like Aubrey to forget his promise; it was seldom that he allowed anything to keep him away from the tournament.

      “Have you seen my friend Aubrey to-day?” De Narsac asked this question a hundred times. Everybody gave the same answer, and wondered what had happened.

      The day passed and another day came, and still there was no news from Aubrey. De Narsac had called at his friend’s lodgings, but could learn nothing. The young man had not been seen since the morning before the tournament.

      Three days passed, and still not a word. De Narsac was greatly troubled. He knew now that some accident must have happened to Aubrey. But what could it have been?

      Early in the morning of the fourth day he was aroused by a strange noise at his door. He dressed himself in haste and opened it. A dog was crouching there. It was a greyhound, so poor that its ribs stuck out, so weak that it could hardly stand.

      De Narsac knew the animal without looking at the collar on its neck. It was Dragon, his friend Aubrey’s greyhound—the dog who went with him whenever he walked out, the dog who was never seen save in its master’s company.

      The poor creature tried to stand. His legs trembled from weakness; he swayed from side to side. He wagged his tail feebly, and tried to put his nose in De Narsac’s hand. De Narsac saw at once that he was half starved; that he had not had food for a long time.

      He led the dog into his room and fed him some warm milk. He bathed the poor fellow’s nose and bloodshot eyes with cold water. “Tell me where is your master,” he said. Then he set before him a full meal that would have tempted any dog.

      The greyhound ate heartily, and seemed to be much stronger. He licked De Narsac’s hands. He fondled his feet. Then he ran to the door and tried to make signs to his friend to follow him. He whined pitifully.

      De Narsac understood. “You want to lead me to your master, I see.” He put on his hat and went out with the dog.

      Through the narrow lanes and crooked streets of the old city,