“Hyeroche, here, is the oldest,” went on the farmer. “Before she was born my wife had a dream. Any of the neighbours can tell ye, for, Paian help us, she told it enough! She dreamed that she was searchin’ for her baby in the mountains, an’ she found it, a little weepin’ thing lyin’ on top of a milkin’ stool. She started to take it off of the milkin’ stool, but quick, the milkin’ stool shot up tall with its three legs, a very tripod, an’ she couldn’t reach the baby. “Now I ain’t no reader of dreams. But what do ye think o’ that, Akeretos? Doesn’t it seem pointin’ the baby to be Pythia?” Old Akeretos nodded. He was much impressed. “An’ this other one here, Timo, before she was born, Paian help us, the same dream to her, too.” Akeretos was not listening. He was studying the girls. Well did he know the successful Pythia type. The little farmer turned to Nikander. “Now ain’t they just made for Pythias?” he demanded, “the both on ’em, an’ free-born Delphians both.” Nikander studied them. He was trying to keep his judgment clear and unbiassed by his earnest wish. If these girls were made Pythias at once would it not afford a chance to secure his daughter’s freedom? Akeretos turned to Nikander. “These might put your daughter into the background,” he said. “You will forgive me, Nikander, if I say that these have more the Pythia look than has Theria.” “My daughter is not the Pythian type,” said Nikander, trying to speak indifferently. “I realize that, Akeretos. Anyway, we require three Pythias. It has been the custom and is right.” That afternoon a council of all the priests was held to decide upon the farmer girls. Beforehand Nikander sought his kinsman Timon. Perhaps Timon would listen now as he would not on that other occasion when Nikander had spoken—then when the Persians were so nigh at hand. Nikander must steer his course carefully. Timon must not suspect the dangerous truth—Theria’s deception on the tripod. Yet Nikander must bring forth every argument possible for his child’s release. “Timon,” he began, “I am feeling more and more that my daughter Theria is not the Pythia type.” “Not the type!” repeated his kinsman. “But she gave magnificent oracles, Nikander. Very unusual oracles. And the manner of giving was unusual, also. Do not you think so?” Timon looked sharply at Nikander, or did Nikander fancy it? Nikander had much ado to keep himself steady and unmoved. He hastily changed the subject. “Yes, they were good oracles. But the girl is breaking too fast under the ecstasy. That, of course, would make me wish to have her cease prophesying. But that is not all. I would not let mere personal feelings sway me. You know that, Timon.” “Yes.” “Theria had a vision on the mountain. You have no doubt of that, have you?”