ght stuff. Perseus, with his cap of darkness and his wonderful
sandals, was not long in winging his way to our hearts. Apollo knocked
at Admetus' gate in something of the right fairy fashion. Psyche
brought with her an orthodox palace of magic, as well as helpful birds
and friendly ants. Ulysses, with his captivating shifts and strategies,
broke down the final barrier, and henceforth the band was adopted and
admitted into our freemasonry.

I had been engaged in chasing Farmer Larkin's calves--his special
pride--round the field, just to show the man we hadn't forgotten him,
and was returning through the kitchen-garden with a conscience at peace
with all men, when I happened upon Edward, grubbing for worms in the
dung-heap. Edward put his worms into his hat, and we strolled along
together, discussing high matters of state. As we reached the tool-shed,
strange noises arrested our steps; looking in, we perceived Harold,
alone, rapt, absorbed, immersed in the special game of the moment. He
was squatting in an old pig-trough that had been brought in to be
tinkered; and as he rhapsodised, anon he waved a shovel over his head,
anon dug it into the ground with the action of those who would urge
Canadian canoes. Edward strode in upon him.

[Illustration: '"_I'm Jason . . . and this is the Argo . . . and we're
just going through the Hellespont_"']

'What rot are you playing at now?' he demanded sternly.

Harold flushed up, but stuck to his pig-trough like a man. 'I'm Jason,'
he replied defiantly; 'and this is the Argo. The other fellows are here
too, only you can't see them; and we're just going through the
Hellespont, so don't you come bothering.' And once more he plied the
wine-dark sea.

Edward kicked the pig-trough contemptuously. 'Pretty sort of Argo you've
got!' said he.

Harold began to get annoyed. 'I can't help it,' he retorted. 'It's the
best sort of Argo I can manage, and it's all right if you only pretend
enough. But _you_ never could pretend one bit.'

Edward reflected. 'Look here,' he said presently. 'Why shouldn't we get
hold of Farmer Larkin's boat, and go right away up the river in a real
Argo, and look for Medea, and the Golden Fleece, and everything? And
I'll tell you what, I don't mind your being Jason, as you thought of it
first.'

Harold tumbled out of the trough in the excess of his emotion. 'But
we aren't allowed to go on the water by ourselves,' he cried.

'No,' said Edward, with fine scorn: 'we