h over reckless gods and mortals.

In one corner of the web she made a story of her conquest over the
sea-god Poseidon. For the first king of Athens had promised to dedicate
the city to that god who should bestow upon it the most useful
gift. Poseidon gave the horse. But Athena gave the olive,--means of
livelihood,--symbol of peace and prosperity, and the city was called
after her name. Again she pictured a vain woman of Troy, who had been
turned into a crane for disputing the palm of beauty with a goddess.
Other corners of the web held similar images, and the whole shone like a
rainbow.

Meanwhile Arachne, whose head was quite turned with vanity, embroidered
her web with stories against the gods, making light of Zeus himself and
of Apollo, and portraying them as birds and beasts. But she wove with
marvelous skill; the creatures seemed to breathe and speak, yet it was
all as fine as the gossamer that you find on the grass before rain.

Athena herself was amazed. Not even her wrath at the girl's insolence
could wholly overcome her wonder. For an instant she stood entranced;
then she tore the web across, and three times she touched Arachne's
forehead with her spindle.

"Live on, Arachne," she said. "And since it is your glory to weave, you
and yours must weave forever." So saying, she sprinkled upon the maiden
a certain magical potion.

Away went Arachne's beauty; then her very human form shrank to that of a
spider, and so remained. As a spider she spent all her days weaving and
weaving; and you may see something like her handiwork any day among the
rafters.

THE METAL KING

A GERMAN FOLE-TALE

(ADAPTED)

Once long ago there was a high mountain whose rocks were veined with
gold and silver and seamed with iron. At times, from a huge rent in the
mountain-side, there shot out roaring, red flames, and clouds of black
smoke. And when the village folk in the valley below saw this, they
would say: "Look! the Metal King is at his forge." For they knew that in
the gloomy heart of the mountain, the Metal King and his Spirits of the
Mines wrought in gold and iron.

When the storm raged over the valley, the Metal King left his cavern
and riding on the wings of the wind, with thundering shouts, hurled
his red-hot bolts into the valley, now killing the peasants and their
cattle, now burning houses and barns.

But when the weather was soft and mild, and the breezes blew gently
about the mouth of his cavern, the Meta