certain Greeks—the Ionians and Aolians—sent to beg for his protection, whereas they had ignored him when he asked them to revolt against Croesus. But Cyrus sent back a message in the form of a story. ‘There was once a piper,’ said he, ‘who piped by the sea- shore, thinking the fish would leap out of the water on to the land. But the fish remained unmoved. Then the man fetched a net and dragged a quantity of them ashore, whereupon they all began to leap and dance. ‘Do not trouble yourselves,’ said the piper. ‘I want none of your leaping and dancing now.’”
“I see,” said Harry, thoughtfully. “Rather neat, that.”
“But of what happened then,” said Herodotus, “and of many other things I cannot tell thee, for it waxes late.”
“Must you go now?” said Harry sorrowfully.
“In truth, yes. But, mayhap, we shall yet meet again, and I will then tell thee of Darius and other mighty men—of strange peoples and strange sights—for I have not yet told thee half that I have seen and heard.”
“Yes, do come back,” said Harry. “I can’t tell you how I enjoy your talks, Herodotus. I wish we learned all history like that.”
“Farewell, now, my boy. Thou hast a place in my affections, and I am loth to leave thee. May thy journey to Egypt be all thou hopest, and good fortune attend thee at all times.”
“Thank you, Herodotus; and, please—’ (Harry coloured up), “please, I’ve something for you. I thought p’raps you'd look at it sometimes and remember me.”
And Harry tugged out of his pocket a small silver frame containing his likeness.
The Greek took it and gazed on it.
“I thank thee, my little friend. Nought could please me more. Truly, ’tis a wonderful age, this age of thine.”
He rested his hand affectionately on Harry’s head for a moment—then he was gone.
Once more Harry stood alone in the long grass by the river.
