Soon after his return it chanced that the harvest was more plentiful than it had ever been within the memory of man. Wherefore Œneus the king ordered a great thanksgiving to be held throughout the land in honor of Bacchus and Ceres and Minerva, who had given such good gifts to men. At every shrine and temple the altars smoked with sacrifice, and glad bands of youths and maidens with garlands on their heads danced hand in hand around, singing the song of the harvest. When Diana, the huntress, saw that everywhere the altars smoked in honor of Ceres and Bacchus and Minerva, but that never a single stone was raised to her, she was filled with jealousy and wrath. One night, when all the land lay sleeping, she left the mountains, where she loved to hunt, and came down to Calydon. The arrows in her quiver rattled as she strode along in her wrath, and the flash of her eyes was as the flash of summer lightning across the sky. With great swinging strides she came and stood over Œneus as he slept. “O king,” she said, “too long have I been patient and waited for my dues; but I will suffer thine ingratitude no more. When the young corn stands green upon the plain, and the vine-leaves are shooting, and the trees cast once more their shade upon the bare hill-side, then shalt thou have cause to know my power. Broad and dark are the forests, and many a wild beast lurks therein that is tame at my word alone. One of these will I let loose upon thy land. Many a fair field shall be trodden underfoot, and many a vineyard and olive-grove laid waste—yea, and red blood shall flow, ere my wrath be assuaged, and I take away the pests from your midst. I have spoken, and no sacrifice shall turn me from my word.” Thus did she speak, saying the words in his ear, and turned and left the room by the way she had come. With a start he awoke from his sleep and looked around him, but no one could he see. Only a sudden storm of wind lashed the branches of the trees against each other, and a dark cloud hid the face of the moon. “The sad winter-time is coming,” he thought, “with its storms and its darkened days. Yet, lest there be aught in my dream, I will remember Diana to-morrow, and her altars, too, shall smoke with sacrifice.”