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. At last it grew dark, and torches began to blaze in front of the booths. "Shall we go home, Charmides?" said Glaucon. "Oh, no!" cried the boy. "I haven't seen it all. I am not tired. It is gayer now than ever with the torches. See all those shining flames." And he ran to a booth where a hundred little bronze lamps hung, each with its tongue of clear light. It was an imagemaker's booth. The table stood full of little clay statues of the gods. Charmides took up one. It was a young man leaning against a tree trunk. On his arm he held a baby. "It is a model of the great marble Hermes in the temple of Hera, my little master," said the image maker. "Great Praxiteles made that one, poor Philo made this one." "It is beautiful," said Charmides and turned away, holding it tenderly in his hand. Glaucon waited a moment to pay for the figure. Then he followed Charmides who had walked on. He was standing on the bridge gazing at the water. "Glaucon," he said, "I must see that statue of Hermes." They stood there talking about the wonderful works of Praxiteles and of many another artist. Glaucon pointed to a little wooden shed lying in the meadow.