Charmides snatched a handful of figs and rolled out of the tent squealing with joy. Menon came after him, laughing, and Glaucon followed to care for them. “The sun is setting,” said Menon. “It will soon be dark, and to-morrow are the games. They will keep us busy when they begin, so you must use your eyes to-day if you want to see the fair.” He stopped on the hillside and looked down into the sacred place. “It is wonderful!” he said, half to himself. “The home of glory! I love every stone of it. I have not been here since I myself won the single race. And now my son is to win it. That was when you were a baby, Charmides.” “I know, father,” whispered the boy with shining eyes. “I have kissed your olive wreath, where it hangs above our altar at home.” The father put his hand lovingly on the boy’s yellow head. “By the help of Hermes there soon will be a green one there for you to kiss, lad. The gods are very good to crown our family twice.” “I wish there were crowns for lame boys to win,” said Charmides. “I would win one!” He said that fiercely and clenched his fist. His father looked kindly into his eyes and spoke solemnly. “I think you would, my son. Perhaps there are such crowns.” They started on thoughtfully and soon were among the crowd. There were a hundred interesting sights. They passed an outdoor oven like a little round hill of stones and clay. The baker was just raking the fire out of the little door on the side. Charmides waited to see him put the loaves into the hot cave. But before it was done a horn blew and called him away to a little table covered with cakes. “Honey cakes! Almond cakes! Fig cakes!” sang the man. “Come buy!” There they lay--stars and fish and ships and temples. Charmides picked up one in the shape of a lyre. “I will take this one,” he said, and solemnly ate it. “Why are you so solemn, son?” laughed Menon. The boy did not answer. He only looked up at his father with deep eyes and said nothing. But in a moment he was racing off to see some rope dancers. “Glaucon,” said the master to the slave, “take care of the boy. Give him a good time. Buy him what he wants. Take him back to camp when he is tired. I have business to do.” Then he turned to talk with a friend, who had come up, and Glaucon followed his little master. What a good time the boy had! The rope dancers, the sword swallowers, the Egyptian with his painted scroll, a trained bear that wrestled with a wild-looking man dressed in skins, a cooking tent where whole sheep were roasting and turning over a fire, another where tiny fish were boiling in a great pot of oil and jumping as if alive--he saw them all. He stood under the sculptors’ awning and gazed at the marble people more beautiful than life. And when he came upon Apollo striking his lyre, his heart leaped into his mouth. He stood quiet for a long time gazing at this god of song. Then he walked out of the tent with shining eyes.