Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1889-06-07
ONLY AN OLD FABLE.
By c. G. NORMAN.

SA/>/AN was known far and
M(S1 kEC[AGS wide for her excel
&<Qll- ALA.sIence in the art of
weaving. Once she told herself, In a
fit of presumption, that even the god
dess Pallas could not produce so beau
tiful tissue as her own skillful hands.
Pallas descended, and the competition
was begun. The goddess wrought a
magnificent texture, but she was wiGhaI
not able to surpass the skillful
Arachne. Being very displeased with
the proud girl, she changed her into a
spider; she should forever be engaged
at her rare and beautiful weaVing.s
This story Is told by the Roman author
Ovid, in one of his excellent Meta
mOrphOses.' Pallas is a name of
Minerva, who was the goddess of wis
dom, Of the liberal arts, ard of spin
ming and weaving.
Now there was time for recess, and
the boy picked up his books, hurrying
off to play.
"The old Greeks and Romans tell
wonderful stories, said the sister of
the boy, the young lady, who was sit
ting by her seWing-frame at the OppO-
site end of the table and who had over
heard the whole recitation. She was
very proud and very beautiful.
What does that story mean?" she
added
at is only a fable, gracious lady,"
answered the tutor.
"And that is all ?" she asked with an
ilnpetuOus little laugh, looking at him
with her great dark eyes. Her laugh
and look seemed to infer something
like this: Cant you tell me anything
about it? Don't you see that 1 want
you to speak? Are you that foolish ?"
He felt it, and he also felt how the
blood was mantling his cheeks. He
was an inexperienced, learned and
goOd-natured man, a tutor In a mobiles
house. But he was a poet, though
only in secret, and he was althOgether
ignorant about the ways of the world.
And in order not to fail those dark
eyes, he began slowly:
Gone could imagine"
What ?" was asked by those dark
eyes. And the fine, slender fingers
quit their work.
Tt is said that women often do that
which Is only prerOgative Of the gods:
spin the threads of human fate; it is
said that they have much to say in
this world, if, indeed, not all; and that
they cause good or evil to happen at
their will. Would it not be possible
that an affronted gOdhead has doomed
such women to be themselves entangled
in those fine, flexible threads they for
ever are spinning? ?"
Chats too far-fetched," said the
young lady. "But tell me more about
it. Why are you standing? Sit down
here on the sofa. Put away the book
and tell me more, l pray you.
The white hands began their work
anew, the shining needle made stitch
after stitch in rapid succession, while
the tutor went on with his stories. He
spoke of old tales in which the wrath
of the gods was always called forth
by a woman. "And in all these fal es,
he concluded, eve find her, Arachne,
beautiful, infatuating, and destructive
to her victims; Arachne always chang
ing and still always the same, the
eternal spinner of Fate-the woman.
And he looked intently at the dark
eyes and the smiling face. But she
quickly returned:
"The eternal spinner Of Fate, the
woman! Do you really believe that ?"
ZIP" he questioned, lowering his
eyes.
eyes, you'll"
81 have no experience"
She liked that Neither did she have
any experience in that line. But she
could get some. What did that sig
Nifty? He was only a poor tutor
1t was only for fun.
"Are you going out for a walk with
my brother, tonight ?" asked the young
lady.
He answered in the affirmative, and
then she told him that she would make
them company, in order to perfect her
self in the Greek mythology.
Evening came-and days and weeks
, passed.
"Our tutor is going to leave us, OBJ
served the father of the young lady
one day. "He is i'll, and wants to go
home to his mother. He looks real pale
and sick"
Days, weeks, and months passed.
"YOu must decide" said the father
one day. "The Count viii be here to-
morrow; he viii speak to me and I viii
show him to you. Be sensible, my
daughter!"
Weeks, months, and years passed.
The Countess was sitting in the gar
den outside the magnificent villa. Her
face was deathly pale, strongly re-
sembling marble. In those dark eyes
only there was life. She was staring
at some letters she had been tracing in
the fine sand with the butt of her par
asOl. The Count, who was standing
beside her, read the words.
"Arachne, what is that ?"
@Only an old fable" replied the
, Countess, instantly erasing the word.
And the moral does not need to be
told Chicago Ledger.
Raised Him Out.
Cant you put a poor, starving man
In the way of getting bite Of bread ?"
asked the tramp as he presented him