his simple and kindly nature. To him, sitting one
summer evening before his hut, came a stranger whom he invited to share
his meal. The stranger seated himself and began to tell the priest many
wonderful things--stories of the magic of the sun and of the bright
beings who move at the gateways of the day. The old man grew drowsy in
the warm sunlight and fell asleep. Then the stranger, who was Apollo,
arose, and in the guise of the priest entered the little temple, and the
people came in unto him one after the other.

First came Agathon, the husbandman, who said: "Father, as I bend over
the fields or fasten up the vines I sometimes remember that you said the
gods can be worshipped by doing these things as by sacrifice. How is
it, father, that the pouring of cold water over roots or training up the
vines can nourish Zeus? How can the sacrifice appear before his throne
when it is not carried up in the fire and vapor?"

To him Apollo, in the guise of the old man, replied: "Agathon, the
father omnipotent does not live only in the aether. He runs invisibly
within the sun and stars, and as they whirl round and round they break
out into streams and woods and flowers, and the clouds are shaken away
from them as the leaves from off the roses. Great, strange, and bright,
he busies himself within, and at the end of time his light shall shine,
through, and men shall see it moving in a world of flame. Think then, as
you bend over your fields, of what you nourish and what rises up within
them. Know that every flower as it droops in the quiet of the woodland
feels within and far away the approach of an unutterable life and is
glad. They reflect that life as the little pools the light of the stars.
Agathon, Agathon, Zeus is no greater in the aether than he is in the
leaf of grass, and the hymns of men are no sweeter to him than a little
water poured over one of his flowers."

Agathon, the husbandman, went away, and he bent tenderly in dreams over
his fruit and his vines, and he loved them more than before, and he grew
wise as he watched them and was happy working for the gods.

Then spake Damon, the shepherd Father, "while the flocks are browsing
dreams rise up within me. They make the heart sick with longing. The
forests vanish, and I hear no more the lambs' bleat or the rustling of
the fleeces. Voices from a thousand depths call me; they whisper, they
beseech me. Shadows more lovely than earth's children utter music, not
for me thou