never quite understand why old King Peleus of the little city of Phthia in Thessaly should have been so great a favorite of the gods. But, say what we will, he knew some things that were well worth knowing. For instance, he knew that the best way to govern men was to give them plenty of work to do; and hence his people of Phthia were such busy bodies that they were everywhere called Myrmidons, which in plain English means Ants. Indeed, an absurd story was told that when Peleus first came into that part of the country there was no city there, and not a sign of human beings, not even a wild man in the woods—nothing but a great ant-hill with its thousands of six-legged workers toiling and fuming and laying up their stores of winter food. But while the young outlaw—for Peleus was only such—sat footsore and hungry on the green turf and watched these wise creatures, how by their industry they waxed rich, there came a sudden flash of lightning and a stunning clap of thunder from the clouds that hovered over Mount Olympus, and, presto! all was changed. The ant-hill was suddenly transformed into a white-walled town, and the insects themselves into busy men and women hurrying through the streets, carrying burdens, building houses, and buying and selling, just as though they had always been used to doing so. Armed warriors stood guard at the gates, and sturdy farmers with their teams of oxen were bringing in the produce of the fields; and in the middle part of the city, surrounded by a garden of olives and pomegranates, was a white palace which the Myrmidons had built for Peleus, whom they now hailed as their king.

But the most interesting happening in the life of King Peleus was his wedding with the sea-nymph Thetis, for that was the starting point of the greatest romance that has ever been sung or written. Whether Thetis was really a silver-footed nymph, as the poets would have us believe, or whether she was only the daughter of a fisherman, it matters not, the time was so long ago. It is certainly true that she was famed all over the world for her beauty and her many graces; and Peleus, who was then too old to be handsome, had no easy time of it in the winning of her.

The wedding was the grandest ever known, for there were gods and heroes among the guests; and the wedding presents, which were brought from land and sea and sky, were such as were never seen before or since. According to the custom of the time, the finest of these gifts were nominally for the bridegroom; but I have little doubt that had it not been for the sake of the beautiful bride they would not have been given. Among these gifts was a suit of well-wrought armor with a wooden tablet attached to it upon which was written: "This is from the gods." There was also an ashen spear of great weight which Cheiron, the Centaur, had cut and shaped from a tree that grew on the topmost crag of Mount Pelion. But the last and best of all were two peerless war steeds called Balios (Swift) and Xanthos (Old-Gold), the gift of the mighty sea-king Poseidon.

Both of these horses were of the same height, both were of the same perfect shape, and they moved together as if they had but one mind. Their color was that of old gold finely burnished, and their long manes, which were like silk for fineness, sparkled like sunbeams in the clear air of a frosty morning. Their eyes were like the eyes of eagles, their feet were light as the air, their speed was that of the west wind, and they understood the language of men.

Perhaps it would be unfair to say that King Peleus was prouder of these horses than he ever expected to be of his fair young wife. He had a fine suite of rooms fitted up for them in his palace at Phthia, and the best grooms in Hellas were employed to take care of them day and night. The fame of the steeds soon spread into foreign lands, and many were the princes and heroes that came from beyond the sea to look at and admire them. But the harness that belonged to them hung unused in its place upon the wall. For old King Peleus, who in his younger days had been a famous rider and driver, and had won the title of Lord of Horses, was too feeble ever to mount the war chariot again, and Swift and Old-Gold were too noble and precious to be driven by any common mortal. Every day they were bathed in wine and washed in the clearest spring water, their manes were oiled and combed and plaited in tresses, and they were allowed to gambol for an hour in the king's orchard. Otherwise they stood idle in their stalls, and knew neither bit nor lash nor loud war-cry; and while their master grew older and feebler with every change of the moon, they remained always young and beautiful and strong.

By and by a son was born to Thetis and the king, a fair-haired child who the soothsayers declared would be greater than his father and yet would die sooner than he. When the babe was brought in the nurse's arms to Peleus, the old man looked upon him fondly and said:

"This is the hero who will drive the steeds Balios and Xanthos in battle. He shall also have the armor of well-wrought bronze which the gods gave me on my wedding day, and the mighty spear which Cheiron, my wise grandfather, hewed out of the mountain-ash."

But the babe, afraid of the gray locks and wrinkled visage of its sire, cried; and Peleus, turning away, said: "He is, after all, only a little whiner!" And they therefore called him Ligyron, which means whining.

When Ligyron was yet a very little child, his father sent him to live with Cheiron, who had a famous nursery and kindergarten of heroes at his home on the wooded slopes of Mount Pelion. The wise old Centaur changed the lad's name to Achilles and fed him with the hearts of lions and the marrow of bears and wild boars. And the boy was taught how to use the bow and how to manage horses and how to take care of his own body that he might always be strong and brave. He also learned what were the best ways of treating wounds, and what kind of herbs were good for medicines; and he became inured to exposure and danger, sleeping in the open air, chasing wild boars in the forest, riding barebacked on the half-tamed horses of the plains, and skirmishing with savage robbers in the mountain passes. He was not more than nine years old when, having finished his course in Cheiron's school, he went back to his home in Phthia, a tall, yellow-haired, sun-browned youth, very quick of temper, strong-limbed, and as graceful as he was brave. His fair mother wept when she saw him, for a soothsayer had told her that his life, although a glorious one, should be of short duration. His old father was very proud of him, and took him out to show him the treasures of the palace.

"Here," said the king, "is the matchless armor of bronze which the gods gave me on my wedding day. No man has ever yet worn it, but you are already well-nigh large enough for it to fit you becomingly. See this fair, round shield with many an image of beauty graven upon it, and this helmet with its nodding horsehair plume—was ever anything so delightsome to a young warrior's eye? And here is the ashen spear which not one of our Myrmidons is strong enough to wield, but which your stout arms will soon be able to hurl. And, lastly, here are Swift and Old-Gold, the noblest war steeds that any mortal ever owned. All these things are yours, my son!"

I have set out to tell you only about a famous team of horses, I shall not be expected to relate the history of that ever-memorable war in which Swift and Old-Gold acted so important a part—the war which the Greeks waged against Troy on the farther side of the Ægean Sea. Hence I shall not stop to explain the causes of that war, how they began at old Peleus's wedding feast and became active when beautiful Helen of Argos was carried away by Prince Paris of Troy. Nor shall I tell how King Agamemnon lighted the war fires on every hilltop of Greece and summoned every warrior chief to join him in defending the honor of their country by punishing the Trojans and bringing fair Helen back to her home. Nor need I relate how the young Achilles was at first hidden away by his mother lest he should go to the war and lose his life therein; nor how, being discovered in his hiding-place, he was afterward persuaded to lead his Myrmidons to the attack upon Troy, although well knowing that he would never return to his native land; nor how nine long years were wasted in desultory warfare along the Trojan shores; nor yet how, at the beginning of the tenth year, Achilles, being angered at Agamemnon's high-handed tyranny, drew off his Myrmidons and withheld his aid at the very time when the Greeks stood most in need of it. Of all these things you may read in the works of the great poets; my story has to do with Swift and Old-Gold and the events that grew out of Achilles's wrath.

A month had already passed since the quarrel, and Achilles sat sulkily in his hut, nursing his anger toward Agamemnon. On either side of him, along the sandy sea-beach, were the tents of his Myrmidons; and behind them, drawn up on the shelving shore just out of reach of the waves, were the fifty black ships which had borne them across the sea. Opening into the same courtyard as their master's hut was the stable wherein Swift and Old-Gold stood lazily champing the clover and parsley which the grooms had cut and brought to them from the meadows along the shore. Three times nine years had passed since they were given to old Peleus at his wedding feast, and yet they were as wondrously fair and strong and swift as they had ever been. Many times since crossing the sea, they had borne their young master into the din and fury of battle, and many times had their fearlessness and his prowess turned the tide of war. But now the days were passed in idleness. Their harness with their master's armor hung useless within the hut. The war chariot, polished and clean, stood well covered up beside the door, and Achilles's mighty ashen spear, leaned, half-forgotten, against the wall. The Myrmidons lolled lazily upon the grass in the shadow of their tents, some sleeping, some playing checkers or games of chance, and some telling wonderful tales of warfare and adventure. But beneath the walls of Troy, only a short distance away, the rest of the Greeks were fighting a losing battle with the Trojans. In vain did Agamemnon and his chiefs urge their warriors to the fray. Their foes, led by brave Hector of Troy, worsted them on every hand, and later in the day drove them back beaten and disheartened to the shore of the sea and to the shelter of their ships.

And the two war steeds, champing clover and gazing out of the open door of the courtyard, talked together about the prospects of the war.

"Methinks," said Swift, "that unless our master takes the field the Greeks will soon be pushed into the sea."

"Agamemnon himself knows that," responded Old-Gold, "and he will send men to Achilles this very night, to persuade him to forget his anger."

"And what will our master do then?" asked Swift. "Tell me, brother, for thou canst sometimes see into the future."

"He will not be moved, for he is unforgiving. And yet he will allow his dear friend Patroc1us to lead the Myrmidons into the fight. Have courage, brother, for I smell the fray afar off, and we shall have part in it ere many days."

night the men of Troy encamped on the plain between the city and the ships, and Swift and Old-Gold looking out could see a thousand watch-fires blazing, and in the gleam of each sat fifty warriors proudly boasting of their deeds. But the Greeks were cowering among their tents on the shore and debating whether to betake themselves at once to their ships and return in disgrace to their native land, or whether to try the uncertain issue of another day of battle.

"Ah!" cried Swift, peering into the gloom. "Who comes here? It must be the men whom Agamemnon has sent out to treat with our master."

Moving with great caution along the shore, lest they should be heard by some Trojan picket, three noble Greeks were making their way toward the hut of Achilles. They were Ajax, the cousin of Achilles and next to him the mightiest of living heroes; Ulysses, the wiliest of the Grecian chiefs; and knightly old Phoinix, who had once been Achilles's schoolmaster in Phthia. With these men were also two heralds who came to help them find the way. Very quietly did they draw near, led by the cunning Ulysses. Unseen by anyone save the two war steeds, they entered the open door. They crossed the courtyard, found Achilles in his own room playing a sweet air upon a lyre of curious workmanship, and singing of the glories of war, whilst over against him sat his friend Patroclus, silently listening. Surprised by their sudden coming, both of the young men sprang to their feet, Achilles with the lyre still in his hand. Then he welcomed them warmly as his dearest friends, and leading them forward he made them sit down upon soft cushions and carpets of purple, and turning to Patroclus he bade him bring forth a great bowl of mixed wine and a cup for each of his guests.

And Patroclus did this and more. In the light of the blazing fire he placed a great fleshing-block, and upon it he laid a goat's back and choice pieces of mutton and pork; and having sliced them well, he pierced them with spits and roasted them above the hot coals. Then he put the meat on platters, and brought out baskets of white bread which he served to the guests. But Achilles himself served the meat, while Patroclus sacrificed to the gods by throwing some of the choicest pieces into the fire. When all had partaken of the good cheer before them Ulysses filled a cup with wine and pledged it to Achilles and made known the object of their coming.

All night long the three messengers pleaded with Achilles to lay aside his anger and to give to the sorely tried Greeks the succor of which they stood in so great need. And they promised in the name of Agamemnon that he should have for his reward seven tripods untouched by fire, and ten talents of gold, and twenty caldrons of bronze, and twelve prize-winning horses, and seven women slaves skilled in the finest handiwork. More than this, if they should succeed in taking Troy, then Achilles might load his ship full of gold and bronze from the pillage of the palaces; and he might choose the fairest of Agamemnon's daughters for his wife, and take with her as her dower seven well-peopled cities that lay near the sea. But Achilles turned a deaf ear to all their entreaties, and declared that it was his purpose to sail on the morrow with his Myrmidons back to his native land.

"Hateful to me," he said, "are Agamemnon's gifts, and to me he is not worth a straw. Not even if he gave me ten times, yea, twenty times, all that is his and all that may come to him—even though he should promise me gifts in number as the sand, yet he shall not persuade me. And so you have my answer."

And Ajax and Ulysses arose, and went back sorrowfully to their own tents. But old Phoinix stayed with his one-time pupil Achilles.