d, that the
other children could not imagine what was the matter with Epimetheus.
Neither did he himself know what ailed him, any better than they did.
For you must recollect that, at the time we are speaking of, it was
everybody's nature, and constant habit, to be happy. The world had not
yet learned to be otherwise. Not a single soul or body, since these
children were first sent to enjoy themselves on the beautiful earth,
had ever been sick or out of sorts.

At length, discovering that, somehow or other, he put a stop to all
the play, Epimetheus judged it best to go back to Pandora, who was in
a humor better suited to his own. But, with a hope of giving her
pleasure, he gathered some flowers, and made them into a wreath, which
he meant to put upon her head. The flowers were very lovely,--roses,
and lilies, and orange-blossoms, and a great many more, which left a
trail of fragrance behind, as Epimetheus carried them along; and the
wreath was put together with as much skill as could reasonably be
expected of a boy. The fingers of little girls, it has always appeared
to me, are the fittest to twine flower-wreaths; but boys could do it,
in those days, rather better than they can now.

And here I must mention that a great black cloud had been gathering in
the sky, for some time past, although it had not yet overspread the
sun. But, just as Epimetheus reached the cottage door, this cloud
began to intercept the sunshine, and thus to make a sudden and sad
obscurity.

He entered softly; for he meant, if possible, to steal behind Pandora,
and fling the wreath of flowers over her head, before she should be
aware of his approach. But, as it happened, there was no need of his
treading so very lightly. He might have trod as heavily as he
pleased,--as heavily as a grown man,--as heavily, I was going to say,
as an elephant,--without much probability of Pandora's hearing his
footsteps. She was too intent upon her purpose. At the moment of his
entering the cottage, the naughty child had put her hand to the lid,
and was on the point of opening the mysterious box. Epimetheus beheld
her. If he had cried out, Pandora would probably have withdrawn her
hand, and the fatal mystery of the box might never have been known.

But Epimetheus himself, although he said very little about it, had his
own share of curiosity to know what was inside. Perceiving that
Pandora was resolved to find out the secret, he determined that his
playfellow should