“A great shout answered him, and my father at once began to make preparations. “‘First of all,’ he said, ‘every useless person must be sent out of Rhodes.’ That meant all the women and children, and all men who were not strong enough to fight. For, in the long siege that was expected, there would not be sufficient food for anyone but workmen and soldiers. Workmen must instantly begin to make every sort of warlike weapon, including machines as far as possible like those which Demetrius would certainly employ against the city. Other workmen must strengthen its walls, toiling day and night. Everyone in fact must labour as they had never done before. I followed him from the marketplace that day full of dread. If all the children were to go, should I have to leave Rhodes just at this stirring time, when I so longed to be in the midst of things? Yet I dared not ask my father to let me stay, for I knew I must not trouble him with my affairs when he had the whole town’s business on his mind. I was very miserable, for I knew he intended to send me, with my mother and little sister, to Athens. But you shall hear how it was that I after all remained in Rhodes through the whole dreadful siege. “One of our greatest friends was a certain young sculptor called Chares. He was very fond of me, and deeply interested in a curious gift which, even as a child, I possessed. My greatest amusement and interest had always been to draw _plans_ of houses and towns, and I drew them so correctly and well that everyone was amazed, for I had never been taught. To _me_ there was nothing wonderful about this, for it seemed quite easy, and I could never understand why Chares looked upon my work with so much astonishment. “As soon as I dared I began to beg and entreat not to be sent away, till my father, growing angry, silenced me, and I was just creeping off miserably when Chares, who was with us, spoke. “He had picked up a plan of the town on which I had been working, and I saw him studying it attentively, all the time I was begging to stay. “‘Yield to the boy, Hippias,’ he exclaimed, suddenly. ‘Who knows that this gift of his,’ he tapped the paper he held, ‘may not be of value? I think he should remain with us.’ “My father looked from me to Chares, and, after a moment’s silence, said quietly, and to my great joy, ‘So be it. That is’—turning to me—he went on: ‘if you can bear hunger and even wounds perhaps, like a man. We must have no whimpering children in Rhodes.’ “I felt I could bear anything if only I might remain, and I was unspeakably grateful to my dear Chares for his interference. I knew my father not only trusted him greatly, but also had an idea that he was favoured by the gods, and could look into the future. It was because _he_ pleaded for me that my wish was granted.