She had no need to salt it; the tears that fell on it did that.
Xanthe heard the house-keeper's calls, but did not obey immediately, and
perhaps would not have heeded them at all if she had not noticed--yes,
she was not mistaken--that, in the full meaning of the words, she had
begun to weep like a chidden child.
She was weeping for anger; and soon it vexed her so much to think that
she should cry, that fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.
But not many, for, ere her beautiful eyes grew red, they were dry again,
as is the custom of eyes when they are young and see anything new.
Two children, a vineyard-watchman's son and a herdsman's little daughter,
approached the spring, talking loudly together.
They had decked themselves with fresh, green vines twined about their
necks and bosoms, and were now going to sail a little boat made of bark
in the tiny, walled pool into which the spring flowed.
The boy had been the owner of the boat, but had given it to the little
girl the day before, and now refused to deliver it, unless she would give
him in exchange the shining shells her big brother had found, cleaned,
and fastened around her little brown arm with a string. The boy
persisted in his demand, stretching out his hand for the shells, while
the little girl, with sobs and tears, defended herself.
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