Hermes then heaped a mighty pile of wood, and then bethought him how to produce fire. He took two smooth laurel branches, stripped off the bark and rubbed them in his palms. Suddenly the burning vapor leaped forth on high, which the divine child saw with delight. And fine dry logs and numerous roots he gathered in a delve upon the ground and kindled them, and instantaneously the strength of the fierce flames was breathed around, and while the might of the glorious fire thus wrapped the great pile with glare and roaring sound, Hermes dragged forth two heifers, lowing loud, close to the fire—such might was in the God. He threw them on their backs upon the earth and rolled them over and over and bored their lives out. Then he cut up the fat and flesh and placed the two on spits of wood before the fire, toasting their flesh and ribs, and while this was being done he stretched their hides over a craggy stone. This was a burnt offering to the gods, but the savor of the roasted meat tempted him sorely though immortal, but he repressed the desire to taste it and put not a single morsel into his mouth. Then he removed every trace of the fresh butchery and cooking, so that it seemed all to have vanished through the sky. He burned the hoofs and horns and head and hair; the insatiate fire devoured them hungrily. And when he saw that everything was clear, he quenched the coals and trampled the black dust, and tossed into the stream his bloody sandals. All night he worked in the serene moonshine, but when the light of day was spread abroad, he sought his natal mountain-peaks. On his long wandering, neither man nor god had met him, since he killed Apollo’s kine, nor had a single house-dog barked at him on his road. Now he passed obliquely through the keyhole, like a thin mist or an autumnal blast. Right through the temple of the spacious cave he went with soft light feet, as if his tread fell not on earth. Then he crept quickly to his cradle and spread the swaddling clothes about him; and the knave lay playing with the covering of the bed, with his left hand about his knees and the right hand holding his beloved tortoise-lyre tight. There he lay, innocent as a new-born child, as gossips say.