The tears came into the eyes of Phidias as he bent over his work; it was a pleasure to him to think that his fame gained for him a resting-place of love and gratitude in the hearts of the poorest citizens of Athens. He valued this tribute of the image-maker far more than the praises of the rich and great. Before he left, he saw that both father and daughter were much refreshed by the food which his bounty had given to them, and he bade Aristæus be of good cheer, because he would surely regain his health and strength. "And because you love your art," he said, "I shall be a friend to you and help you. And I shall come again to-morrow and do some work for you--that is to say, if you approve of what I have already done, and then Iris will be able to go out and sell the figures." He hastened away before they were able to thank him, and he left them wondering who this new friend could be. They talked of him for a long time, of his kindness and his skill; and Aristæus dreamt that night about the stranger who had come to work for him. The next day Phidias came again, and took his place at the image-maker's bench, just as if he were always accustomed to sit there. Aristæus, who was better, watched him curiously, but asked no questions. But Iris said to him: "My father and I talk of you, and wonder who you are." Phidias laughed. "Perhaps I shall tell you some day," he answered. "There, child, what do you think of that little vase? When it is baked it will be a pretty thing." As the days went on, the image-maker recovered his strength; and meanwhile Phidias had filled the little shop with dainty-wrought images and graceful vases, such as had never been seen there before. One evening, when Aristæus was leaning against Iris, and admiring the stranger's work, the door opened and Phidias came in. "What, friend," he said cheerily, "you are better to-night I see!" "Last night," said Aristæus, "I dreamt that the friend who held out a brother's hand to me and helped me in my trouble was the great Phidias himself. It did not seem wonderful to me, for only the great do such things as you have done for me. You must be great." "I do not know about that," said the sculptor, smiling, "and after all, I have not done so much for you. I have only helped a brother-workman: for I am an image-maker too--and my name is Phidias." Then Aristæus bent down and reverently kissed the great sculptor's hands. "I cannot find words with which to thank you," he murmured, "but I shall pray to the gods night and day that they will for ever bless Phidias, and keep his fame pure, and his hands strong to fashion forms of beauty. And this I know well: that he will always have a resting-place of love and gratitude in the poor image-maker's heart."