The king's palace was about as tall as a dolls' house and this and the rest of their houses were built neither of stone or wood. They were neatly plastered together by the Pygmy workmen, pretty much like birds'

nests, out of straw, feathers, egg sh.e.l.ls, and other bits of small stuff with stiff clay instead of mortar. And when the sun had dried them they were just as snug and comfortable as a Pygmy could desire.

Their giant friend, Antaeus, was so very tall that he carried a pine tree for a walking stick. It took a far-sighted Pygmy to see the top of his head on a cloudy day. But at noonday, when the sun shone brightly over him, Antaeus presented a very grand spectacle. There he used to stand, a perfect mountain of a man, with his great countenance smiling down on his little brothers and his one eye, which was as big as a cart wheel and placed right in the centre of his forehead, giving a friendly wink to the whole nation at once. In spite of the difference in their size, it seemed as if Antaeus needed the Pygmies for his friend as much as they did him for the protection he was to them. No creature of his own size had ever talked with him. When he stood with his head among the clouds, he was quite alone and had been so for hundreds of years and would be forever. Even if he had met one of the other Giants, Antaeus would have fancied the earth not large enough for them both and would have fought with him. But with the Pygmies he was the most merry and sweet tempered old Giant who ever washed his face in a cloud.

The Pygmies had but one thing to trouble them in the world. They were constantly at war with the cranes. From time to time very terrible battles had been fought in which sometimes the little men were victorious and sometimes the cranes. When the two armies joined battle, the cranes would rush forward, flapping their wings, and would perhaps s.n.a.t.c.h up some of the Pygmies crosswise in their beaks. It was truly an awful spectacle to see the little men kicking and sprawling in the air and then disappearing down the crane's crooked throat, swallowed alive.

If Antaeus observed that the battle was going hard with his little allies, he ran with mile-long strides to their rescue, flourishing his club and shouting at the cranes who quacked and croaked and retreated as fast as they could.

One day the mighty Antaeus was lolling at full length among his friends. His head was in one part of the kingdom and his feet in another and he was taking what comfort he could while the Pygmies scrambled over him and played in his hair. Sometimes, for a minute or two, the Giant dropped to sleep and snored like the rush of a whirlwind. During one of these naps a Pygmy climbed upon his shoulder and took a view around the horizon as from the summit of a hill. Suddenly he saw something, a long way off, that made him rub his eyes and looked sharper than before. At first he mistook it for a mountain and then he saw the mountain move. As it came nearer, what should it turn out to be but a human shape, not so large as Antaeus, but an enormous figure when compared with the Pygmies.

The Pygmy scampered as fast as his legs would carry him to the Giant's ear and, stooping over, shouted in it,

"Brother Antaeus, get up this minute! Take your walking stick in your hand for here comes another Giant to do battle with you!"

"Pooh, pooh!" grumbled Antaeus, only half awake. "None of your nonsense, my little fellow. Don't you see that I am sleepy? There is not another Giant on earth for whom I would take the trouble to get up."

But the Pygmy looked again and now perceived that the stranger was coming directly toward the prostrate form of Antaeus. There he was, with the sun flaming on his golden helmet and flashing from his polished breastplate. He had a sword by his side, and a lion's skin over his back, and on his right shoulder he carried a club which looked bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree walking stick of Antaeus.

By this time the whole nation of Pygmies had seen the new wonder and a million of them set up a shout all together,

"Get up, Antaeus! Bestir yourself, you lazy old Giant. Here comes another Giant, as strong as you are, to fight with you."

"Nonsense," growled the sleepy Giant. "I'll have my nap out, come who may."

Still the stranger drew nearer, and now the Pygmies could plainly discern that, if his stature were less lofty than the Giant's, yet his shoulders were even broader. What a pair of shoulders they must have been, for they were, later, to uphold the sky! So the Pygmies kept shouting at Antaeus, and even went so far as to p.r.i.c.k him with their swords. Antaeus sat up, gave a yawn that was several yards wide, and finally turned his stupid head in the direction in which the little people pointed.

No sooner did he set eye on the stranger than, leaping to his feet and seizing his walking stick, he strode a mile or two to meet him, all the while brandishing the st.u.r.dy pine-tree so that it whistled through the air.

"Who are you?" thundered the Giant, "and what do you want in my domain?

Speak, you vagabond, or I'll try the thickness of your skull with my walking-stick."

"You are a very discourteous Giant," answered the stranger quietly, "and I shall probably have to teach you a little civility before we part. As for my name, it is Hercules. I have come hither because this is my most convenient road to the garden of the Hesperides, where I am going to get some of the golden apples for King Eurystheus."

"Then you shall go no farther!" bellowed Antaeus, for he had heard of the mighty Hercules and hated him because he was said to be so strong.

"I will hit you a slight rap with this pine-tree, for I would be ashamed to kill such a puny dwarf as you appear. I will make a slave of you, and you shall likewise be the slave of my brothers here, the Pygmies. So throw down your club. As for that lion's skin you wear, I intend to have a pair of gloves made of it."

"Come and take it off my shoulders then," answered Hercules, lifting his club.

At that Antaeus, scowling with rage, strode, towerlike, toward the stranger and gave a mighty blow at him with his pine-tree, which Hercules caught upon his club; and, being more skilful than the Giant, he paid him back such a rap that down tumbled the poor man-mountain flat upon the ground. But no sooner was the Giant down than up he bounded, aiming another blow at Hercules. But he was blinded with his wrath and only hit his poor, innocent Mother Earth, who groaned and trembled at the stroke. His pine tree went so deep into the ground that before Antaeus could get it out, Hercules brought his club down over his shoulders with a mighty whack which made the Giant let out a terrible roar. Away it echoed, over mountains and valleys. As for the Pygmies, their capital city was laid in ruins by the vibration it made in the air.

But Antaeus scrambled to his feet again and succeeded in pulling his pine-tree out of the earth. He ran at Hercules, and brought down another blow.

"This time, rascal!" he shouted, "you shall not escape me."

But once more Hercules warded off the stroke with his club, and the Giant's pine-tree was shattered to a thousand splinters. Before Antaeus could get out of the way, Hercules let drive again, and gave him another knock-down blow. Then, watching his opportunity as the Giant rose again, Hercules caught him round the middle with both hands, lifted him high into the air, and held him aloft.

But the most wonderful thing was that, as soon as Antaeus was off the earth, he began to lose the vigor that it now appeared he had gained by touching it. Hercules soon discovered that his enemy was growing weaker, both because he kicked and struggled with less violence, and because the thunder of his big voice subsided to a grumble. The truth was that, unless the Giant touched Mother Earth as often as once in five minutes, not only his overgrown strength, but the very breath of his life would depart from him. Hercules had guessed this secret; it may be well for us all to remember it in case we should ever have to fight with a fellow like Antaeus. For these earth-born Giants are not only difficult to conquer on their own ground but may easily be managed if we can contrive to lift them into a loftier and purer region.

When Antaeus' strength and breath were gone, Hercules gave his huge body a toss and flung it a mile off where it lay heavily with no more motion than a sand hill. His ponderous form may be lying in the same spot to-day, and might be mistaken for those of an uncommonly large elephant.

What a wailing the poor little Pygmies set up when they saw their enormous brother treated in this terrible way! As soon as they saw Hercules preparing for a nap, they nodded their little heads at one another and winked their little eyes. And when he had closed his eyes the whole Pygmy nation set out to destroy the hero.

A body of twenty thousand archers marched in front with their little bows all ready and their arrows on the string. The same number were ordered to clamber on Hercules, some with spades to dig his eyes out, and others with bundles of hay to plug up his mouth and nostrils. These last could not harm him at all, for as soon as he snored he blew out the hay and sent the Pygmies flying before the hurricane of his breath. It was found necessary to hit upon some other way of carrying on the war.

After holding a council, the captains ordered their troops to collect sticks, straws and dry weeds and heap them around the head of Hercules.

The archers, meanwhile, were stationed within bow shot with orders to let fly at Hercules the instant that he stirred. Everything being in readiness, a torch was applied to the pile which immediately burst into flames and soon waxed hot enough to roast Hercules. A Pygmy, you know, though so very small, might set the world on fire just as easily as a Giant could.

But no sooner did Hercules begin to be scorched than up he started.

"What's all this?" he cried, and staring about him as if he expected another Giant.

At that moment the twenty thousand archers tw.a.n.ged their bow strings and the arrows came whizzing like so many mosquitoes. Hercules gazed around, for he hardly felt the arrows. At last, looking narrowly at the ground, he espied the Pygmies at his feet. He stooped down and taking up the nearest one between his thumb and finger, set him on the palm of his left hand and looked at him.

"Who in the world, my little fellow, are you?" Hercules asked.

"I am your enemy," answered the Pygmy. "You have slain the Giant, Antaeus, our brother by our mother's side, and we are determined to put you to death."

Hercules was so amused by the Pygmy's big words and warlike gestures that he burst into laughter and almost dropped the poor little mite of a creature off his hand.

"Upon my word," he said, "I thought I had seen wonders before to-day, hydras with many heads, three headed dogs, and giants with furnaces in their stomachs, but you outdo them all. Your body, my little friend, is about the size of an ordinary man's finger. Pray, how big may your soul be?"

"As big as your own," said the Pygmy.

Hercules was amazed at the little man's courage, and so he left the Pygmies, one and all, in their own country, building their little houses, waging their little warfare with the cranes, and doing their little business whatever it might have been.

FOOTNOTE:

[2] By permission of and special arrangement with the Houghton Mifflin Co.

THE HORN OF PLENTY.

Dejanira was one of the most beautiful of princesses who lived in the long ago days of the Greek G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses. It seemed as if all the charm of the world in this, its myth time, was hers. Her hair was bright with the yellow of the first spring sunshine, and her eyes were as blue as the skies of spring. Summer had touched Dejanira's cheeks with the pink of rose petals, and the colors of the autumn fruits shone in her jewels, crimson and purple and gold. Her robes were as white and soft as the snows of winter, and all the music of soft winds and bird songs and rippling brooks was in this princess' voice.

Because of her beauty and her goodness, which even surpa.s.sed it, princes came from all over the world to ask Dejanira's father, Aeneus, if she might go home to their kingdoms to be their queen. But to all these Aeneus replied that to none but the strongest would he give the princess.

So there were many tests of these strangers' skill and strength in games and wrestling, but one by one they failed. At last there were only two left, Hercules who was strong enough to hold the sky on his broad shoulders, and Achelous, the river-G.o.d, who twisted and twined through the fields making them fertile with the brooks and the streams. Each thought himself the greater of the two, and it lay between them which by his prowess should gain the princess to be his wife.

Hercules was ma.s.sive of limb and of powerful strength. Beneath his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows, his eyes gleamed like b.a.l.l.s of fire. His garment was of lions' skins and his staff was a young tree. But the clever Achelous was able to slip between the huge fingers of Hercules. He was as slender and graceful as a willow tree and his garment was of the green of foliage.

He wore a crown of water lilies on his fair hair, and carried a staff made of twined reeds. When Achelous spoke, his voice was like the rippling of a stream.

"The Princess Dejanira shall be mine!" said Achelous. "I will make her the queen of the river lands. The music of the waters shall be always in her ears, and the plenty that follows wherever I go shall make her rich."

"No!" shouted Hercules. "I am the strength of the earth. Dejanira is mine. You shall not have her."