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 nighty was wet, and so was the flimsy pink wrapper. As for my slippers, they became so soaked through that I discarded them in one of the fields.

I meant to return to my bed as quietly as I had come out, but on reaching our garden I knew that my escape had been discovered. A light was burning in my bedroom, and other lights were moving to and fro in the house, and there were lanterns in the garden.

I walked up to the nearest lantern. Happily it was in the hands of my father.

To scare him I imitated the croak of a frog.

"Oh, baby!" he cried. "Oh, baby, where have you been?"

I confided my whole adventure to him, because of all the elders I have known—except my brother, who was one of the immortals of Olympus—my father seemed, if not to remember, at least to understand.

That night I was not scolded. The wet clothes were replaced by warm ones, and I was only made to drink a disagreeable tisane. And since, in spite of the tisane, I did catch cold and for two days was feverish, I escaped even a remonstrance.

Yet my escapade had one lasting good result. It led to my friendship with Sitanthy—and finally to the goddess of the garden.

On the following Friday, although I was still