him by the
arm, and leading him forward. "Heaven mend thy wits, poor lad! Knowest
thou not that thou art a child of great hopes, and a favourite of
heaven?"

When they came to the place where Nestor was seated with his sons,
they found them busy preparing the feast which followed the sacrifice.
As soon as those of Nestor's company saw the strangers they came
forward in a body to greet them, and made them sit down in places of
honour, where soft fleeces were heaped up on the level sand. A youth,
about the same age as Telemachus, placed a goblet of gold in Mentor's
hand, and gave him that portion of the flesh which was set apart as an
offering to the gods. "Welcome, friend," he said, after pledging him
from the cup. "Put up thy prayer with us to the lord Poseidon, for it
is to his feast that ye have come. And when thou hast prayed, give the
cup to thy young companion, who has been bred, methinks, as I have, to
deeds of piety."

Mentor first asked a blessing on their hosts, and then prayed for a
prosperous issue to their own adventure. After him Telemachus uttered
his prayer in similar words, and then they all sat down to meat. When
they had finished, Nestor looked earnestly at them, and asked them who
they were, and what was the purpose of their journey. "Are ye
merchants," he said, "or bold buccaneers, who roam the seas, a peril
to others, and ever in peril themselves?"

Telemachus, cheered by good fare, and encouraged by the kind manner of
Nestor, answered confidently, and explained the nature of his errand.
"Concerning all the other Greeks," he added, "we know at least the
manner of their death; but even this poor comfort is denied to the
wife and son of Odysseus. Therefore, if thou hast aught to tell, I
beseech thee by thy friendship with my father, let me know all, and
soften not the tale, out of kindness or pity to me."

"Ah! my friend," answered Nestor. "What woeful memories thou hast
awakened by thy words!--perils by land and perils by water, long years
of siege and battle, sleepless nights and toilsome days. Ill-fated
land of Troy! the grave of Grecian chivalry! There lies heroic Ajax,
there lies Achilles, and Patroclus, sage in counsel, and there lies
Antilochus, my own dear son, fleet of foot and strong of hand. And art
thou indeed the son of Odysseus, whom none could match in craft and
strategy? But why do I ask? When thou speakest, I seem to hear the
very tones of his voice. He was my friend, one with m