torchlight seemed
to make a gloom; so that the people whom they met, along the road, could
not very distinctly see their figures; and, indeed, if they once caught
a glimpse of Hecate, with the wreath of snakes round her forehead, they
generally thought it prudent to run away, without waiting for a second
glance.

As the pair traveled along in this woe-begone manner, a thought struck
Ceres.

"There is one person," she exclaimed, "who must have seen my poor child,
and can doubtless tell what has become of her. Why did not I think of
him before? It is Phoebus."

"What," said Hecate, "the young man that always sits in the sunshine? O,
pray do not think of going near him. He is a gay, light, frivolous young
fellow, and will only smile in your face. And besides, there is such a
glare of the sun about him, that he will quite blind my poor eyes, which
I have almost wept away already."

"You have promised to be my companion," answered Ceres. "Come, let us
make haste, or the sunshine will be gone, and Phoebus along with it."

Accordingly, they went along in quest of Phoebus, both of them sighing
grievously, and Hecate, to say the truth, making a great deal worse
lamentation than Ceres; for all the pleasure she had, you know, lay in
being miserable, and therefore she made the most of it. By and by, after
a pretty long journey, they arrived at the sunniest spot in the whole
world. There they beheld a beautiful young man, with long, curling
ringlets, which seemed to be made of golden sunbeams; his garments
were like light summer clouds; and the expression of his face was so
exceedingly vivid, that Hecate held her hands before her eyes, muttering
that he ought to wear a black veil. Phoebus (for this was the very
person whom they were seeking) had a lyre in his hands, and was making
its chords tremble with sweet music; at the same time singing a most
exquisite song, which he had recently composed. For, beside a great many
other accomplishments, this young man was renowned for his admirable
poetry.

As Ceres and her dismal companion approached him, Phoebus smiled on them
so cheerfully that Hecate's wreath of snakes gave a spiteful hiss, and
Hecate heartily wished herself back in her cave. But as for Ceres, she
was too earnest in her grief either to know or care whether Phoebus
smiled or frowned.

"Phoebus!" exclaimed she, "I am in great trouble, and have come to
you for assistance. Can you tell me what has become of my dear c