Theria waited impatiently while he brought in skirtful after skirtful of stones. Then she began to make her village, a stone for each well-known house, a line of little stones to show the road which passed their own door and ran windingly along the mountain slope. Theria set her miniature precinct in the sunny part of the court. To her the sunlight always and inevitably rested on that temple place where fane after fane and shrine after shrine mounted the hillside up to the matchless Apollo temple itself, set like a jewel of red and peacock-blue and gold against the shining cliffs. “The Sacred Way,” murmured Dryas happily as he made the path between the temples. “Here it turns—an’ oh, here’s a sparkly stone for the ’Thenian Treasury.” “The Knidian Treasury,” corrected Theria. “It’s the Knidian Treasury at the turn.” “No—’Thenian!” “No, don’t you remember the pretty marble ladies who hold up the porch?” Still Dryas maintained his Athenian Treasury. “Shu! You’ve never been there,” he said, “an’ I’ve been there lots o’ times.” “I go every day,” announced the little girl. At this evident whopper Dryas’s rosy mouth fell open in dismay. “Never have you been there. You are only a girl.” “I go there every day,” repeated Theria. Quarrel was imminent; was averted only by Dryas scrambling to his feet to seek old Medon as judge. “Never mind Medon, I’ll show you how I go,” and, taking her twin brother’s hand with an air of great bestowing, Theria led him up stairs and forward to her father’s bedchamber, to its one window. Out of this she leaned so far that only her chubby legs remained within. Sure enough, so leaning she could see beyond the shoulder of a cliff a spur of farther hill, and there in a bath of light the golden tip-edge of a little temple and on a higher level a single pillar bearing a sphynx of lofty wings. “I see it every day,” she announced again. “Only a little piece,” said Dryas contemptuously. “When I see that I see all,” repeated the child enthusiast. “Medon has told me all.” Dryas opened his lips to answer but thought better of it. Theria was a most determined little person when once she had made up her mind. They went back to the aula. Here ruin met them. Baltè, the old nurse, was sweeping up their shrine of Apollo in great indignation. “Whatever made ye litter up the aula like this?” She complained. “Rubble and rubbish when the rain washed all so clean last night. Never ye mind. I’ll be rid o’ _one_ of ye after to-day.” Dryas did not notice this speech but Theria looked up in alarm. “Which one?” she asked. “Never ye mind. There; I should not ’a’ spoken.” “Why shouldn’t you spoken?” Such caution was unusual in Baltè. The threat sounded real. Theria caught Baltè’s skirt. “Is something goin’ to happen?” “There, don’t you worry, darlin’. It won’t be you,” said the old nurse as she hurried away. Dryas had rescued enough stones to recommence his threshing-floor. To tell truth, he had preferred this all along.