loom. Soon each, in silence, had begun to weave a wondrous tapestry.
Swift and more swift moved the fingers of the weavers, while the group of strangers, gathered now near to the door, watched the webs as they grew and grew apace.
Into her tapestry Athene was weaving the story of her contest with Poseidon for the city of Cecrops. The olive-tree, the horse, the gods in the council, all seemed to live as they appeared on the web of the goddess.
The tapestry woven by Arachne was also beauteous as her work was wont to be. In it you saw the sea, with waves breaking over a great bull, to whose horns clung a girl named Europa. And Europa's curls blew free in the wind.
At length Athene rose from the loom, her work complete. Arachne, too, laid down her spindle, and as she turned to look upon the tapestry of the goddess her courage suddenly failed.
A glance had been enough to show her that her skill was as nothing before the wonder and the beauty of Athene's work.
Too late the maiden repented that she had defied the goddess. In her despair she seized a rope and tied it round her neck to hang herself.
But the goddess saw what Arachne meant to do, and at once she changed her into a spider, bidding her from hence-*forth never cease to spin.
And so when you see a spider weaving its beautiful embroidery on a dewy morning in the garden, or when you find a delicate web in your lumber-room, you will remember how Athene punished poor foolish Arachne in the days of old.
