fire all around him. This she
did that she might make him immortal, and like to the gods.

But one night Metaneira looked out from the chamber where she lay, and
she saw the nurse take little Demophooen and lay him in a place on the
hearth with the burning brands all around him. Then Metaneira started
up, and she sprang to the hearth, and she snatched the child from
beside the burning brands. "Demophooen, my son," she cried, "what would
this stranger-woman do to you, bringing bitter grief to me that ever I
let her take you in her arms?"

Then said Demeter: "Foolish indeed are you mortals, and not able to
foresee what is to come to you of good or of evil."

"Foolish indeed are you, Metaneira, for in your heedlessness you have
cut off this child from an immortality like to the immortality of the
gods themselves. For he had lain in my bosom and had become dear to me
and I would have bestowed upon him the greatest gift that the Divine
Ones can bestow, for I would have made him deathless and unaging. All
this, now, has gone by. Honor he shall have indeed, but Demophoon will
know age and death."

The seeming old age that was upon her had fallen from Demeter; beauty
and stature were hers, and from her robe there came a heavenly
fragrance. There came such light from her body that the chamber shone.
Metaneira remained trembling and speechless, unmindful even to take up
the child that had been laid upon the ground.

It was then that his sisters heard Demophoon wail; one ran from her
chamber and took the child in her arms; another kindled again the fire
upon the hearth, and the others made ready to bathe and care for the
infant. All night they cared for him, holding him in their arms and at
their breasts, but the child would not be comforted, becauses the
nurses who handled him now were less skillful than was the
goddess-nurse.

And as for Demeter, she left the house of Celeus and went upon her way,
lonely in her heart, and unappeased. And in the world that she wandered
through, the plow went in vain through the ground; the furrow was sown
without any avail, and the race of men saw themselves near perishing
for lack of bread.

But again Demeter came near the Well of the Maiden. She thought of the
daughters of Celeus as they came toward the well that day, the bronze
pitchers in their hands, and with kind looks for the stranger--she
thought of them as she sat by the well again. And then she thought of
little Demophoon, the