“Well, but, dear mother,” asked the boy, “why cannot I go to this famous city of Athens, and tell King Ægeus that I am his son?” “That may happen by-and-by,” said Æthra. “Be patient, and we shall see. You are not yet big and strong enough to set out on such an errand.” “And how soon shall I be strong enough?” Theseus persisted in inquiring. “You are but a tiny boy as yet,” replied his mother. “See if you can lift this rock on which we are sitting.” The little fellow had a great opinion of his own strength. So, grasping the rough protuberances of the rock, he tugged and toiled amain, and got himself quite out of breath, without being able to stir the heavy stone. It seemed to be rooted into the ground. No wonder he could not move it; for it would have taken all the force of a very strong man to lift it out of its earthy bed. His mother stood looking on, with a sad kind of a smile on her lips and in her eyes, to see the zealous and yet puny efforts of her little boy. She could not help being sorrowful at finding him already so impatient to begin his adventures in the world. “You see how it is, my dear Theseus,” said she, “you must possess far more strength than now before I can trust you to go to Athens, and tell King Ægeus that you are his son. But when you can lift this rock, and show me what is hidden beneath it, I promise you my permission to depart.” Often and often, after this, did Theseus ask his mother, whether it was yet time for him to go to Athens; and still his mother pointed to the rock, and told him that, for years to come, he could not be strong enough to move it. And again and again the rosy-cheeked and curly-headed boy would tug and strain at the huge mass of stone, striving, child as he was, to do what a giant could hardly have done without taking both of his great hands to the task. Meanwhile the rock seemed to be sinking farther and farther into the ground. The moss grew over it thicker and thicker, until at last it looked almost like a soft green seat, with only a few gray knobs of granite peeping out. The overhanging trees, also, shed their brown leaves upon it, as often as the autumn came; and at its base grew ferns and wild flowers, some of which crept quite over its surface. To all appearance, the rock was as firmly fastened as any other portion of the earth’s substance. But, difficult as the matter looked, Theseus was now growing up to be such a vigorous youth, that, in his own opinion, the time would quickly come when he might hope to get the upper hand of this ponderous lump of stone. “Mother, I do believe it has started!” cried he, after one of his attempts. “The earth around it is certainly a little cracked!” “No, no, child!” his mother hastily answered. “It is not possible you can have moved it, such a boy as you still are.”