ord untwined itself,
as if by magic, and left the box without a fastening.

"This is the strangest thing I ever knew!" said Pandora. "What will
Epimetheus say? And how can I possibly tie it up again?"

She made one or two attempts to restore the knot, but soon found it
quite beyond her skill. It had disentangled itself so suddenly that she
could not in the least remember how the strings had been doubled into
one another; and when she tried to recollect the shape and appearance of
the knot, it seemed to have gone entirely out of her mind. Nothing was
to be done, therefore, but to let the box remain as it was until
Epimetheus should come in.

"But," said Pandora, "when he finds the knot untied, he will know that I
have done it. How shall I make him believe that I have not looked into
the box?"

And then the thought came into her naughty little heart, that, since she
would be suspected of having looked into the box, she might just as well
do so at once. Oh, very naughty and very foolish Pandora! You should
have thought only of doing what was right, and of leaving undone what
was wrong, and not of what your playfellow Epimetheus would have said
or believed. And so perhaps she might, if the enchanted face on the lid
of the box had not looked so bewitchingly persuasive at her, and if she
had not seemed to hear, more distinctly, than before, the murmur of
small voices within. She could not tell whether it was fancy or no; but
there was quite a little tumult of whispers in her ear--or else it was
her curiosity that whispered:

"Let us out, dear Pandora--pray let us out! We will be such nice pretty
playfellows for you! Only let us out!"

"What can it be?" thought Pandora. "Is there something alive in the box?
Well--yes!--I am resolved to take just one peep! Only one peep; and then
the lid shall be shut down as safely as ever! There cannot possibly be
any harm in just one little peep!"

But it is now time for us to see what Epimetheus was doing.

This was the first time, since his little playmate had come to dwell
with him, that he had attempted to enjoy any pleasure in which she did
not partake. But nothing went right; nor was he nearly so happy as on
other days. He could not find a sweet grape or a ripe fig (if Epimetheus
had a fault, it was a little too much fondness for figs); or, if ripe at
all, they were overripe, and so sweet as to be cloying. There was no
mirth in his heart, such as usually made his voice gush ou