A WONDER-BOOK
But it startled me, nevertheless; so that I ran home without filling my pitcher.’
‘That was truly a pity!’ said Bellerophon.
And he turned to the child, whom I mentioned at the beginning of the story, and who was gazing at him, as children are apt to gaze at strangers, with his rosy mouth wide open.
‘Well, my little fellow,’ cried Bellerophon, playfully pulling one of his curls, ‘I suppose you have often seen the winged horse.’
‘That I have,’ answered the child, very readily. ‘I saw him yesterday, and many times before.’
‘You are a fine little man!’ said Bellerophon, drawing the child closer to him. ‘Come, tell me all about it.’
‘Why,’ replied the child, ‘I often come here to sail little boats in the fountain, and to gather pretty pebbles out of its basin. And sometimes, when I look down into the water, I see the image of the winged horse, in the picture of the sky that is there. I wish he would come down, and take me on his back, and let me ride him up to the moon! But, if I so much as stir to look at him, he flies far away out of sight.’
And Bellerophon put his faith in the child, who had seen the image of Pegasus in the water, and in the maiden, who had heard him neigh so melodiously, rather than in the middle-aged clown who believed only in cart-horses, or in the old man who had forgotten the beautiful things of his youth.
Therefore, he haunted about the Fountain of Pirene for a great many days afterwards. He kept continually on the watch, looking upward at the sky, or else down into
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