bour. While the sun shone, through a day that was for her too short,
she strove to separate the grains, but when the shadows of evening
made it hard for her to distinguish one sort from another, only a few
very tiny piles were the result of her weary toil. Very soon the
goddess would return, and Psyche dared not think what would be the
punishment meted out to her. Rapidly the darkness fell, but while the
dying light still lingered in some parts of the granary, it seemed to
Psyche as though little dark trickles of water began to pour from
underneath the doors and through the cracks in the wall. Trembling she
watched the ceaseless motion of those long, dark lines, and then, in
amazement, realised that what she saw were unending processions of
ants. And as though one who loved her directed their labours, the
millions of busy little toilers swiftly did for Psyche what she
herself had failed to do. When at length they went away, in those long
dark lines that looked like the flow of a thread-like stream, the
grains were all piled up in high heaps, and the sad heart of Psyche
knew not only thankful relief, but had a thrill of gladness.

"Eros sent them to me:" she thought. "Even yet his love for me is not
dead."

And what she thought was true.

Amazed and angry, Aphrodite looked at the task she had deemed
impossible, well and swiftly performed. That Psyche should possess
such magic skill only incensed her more, and next day she said to her
new slave:

"Behold, on the other side of that glittering stream, my
golden-fleeced sheep crop the sweet flowers of the meadow. To-day must
thou cross the river and bring me back by evening a sample of wool
pulled from each one of their shining fleeces."

Then did Psyche go down to the brink of the river, and even as her
white feet splashed into the water, she heard a whisper of warning
from the reeds that bowed their heads by the stream.

"Beware! O Psyche," they said. "Stay on the shore and rest until the
golden-fleeced sheep lie under the shade of the trees in the evening
and the murmur of the river has lulled them to sleep."

But Psyche said, "Alas, I must do the bidding of the goddess. It will
take me many a weary hour to pluck the wool that she requires."

And again the reeds murmured, "Beware! for the golden-fleeced sheep,
with their great horns, are evil creatures that lust for the lives of
mortals, and will slay thee even as thy feet reach the other bank.
Only when the sun