And in possession of these things confidence came to her. She was perfectly sure now that she should go to school. She began to hum briskly to herself. She went back into the court to be near Dryas lest when Medon come he forget her. Dryas was prancing about, hugging his lyre. He was not slow to taunt her. “Ai: I’m going to school. You can’t go; you can’t go!” “I can. Father said I could. I heard him.” “When did he say it?” “I don’t know when, but I heard him! ‘Daughter, you are going to school; you are seven years old! Everybody goes to school then.’” “He didn’t give you the lyre. He gave it to me,” gloried Dryas. “I’ve a lyre, too, foolish one.” She held it out. “Ai, what a broken thing, and it’s Lycophron’s. It’s none of yours.” “If I had a lyre I’d play it, not hug it,” retorted Theria. Here Medon came into the aula with sandals on. To Theria it was a thunder-clap. She watched him steadily as he crossed to them, then with loving gesture slipped her hand into his. “But,” said the slave, “my darling is not going to-day. It’s Dryas who must go. Poor Dryas!” “Oh, no: you didn’t understand,” she reasoned with him. “Father wants me to go.” She pushed back her curls with a nervous little gesture and looked brightly up at him. Medon dreaded a battle with Theria. The child had a storm-like temper. To be sure it broke seldom, but it was always on some bright day like this and nearly always had to do with going out of the house—a privilege rare for little girls. Most girls did not expect to go out. Theria always expected it, like a boy, and fought for it like a boy, too. Something told him she was going to fight now. He must do his best. “Medon will buy you a hoop in the market—a hoop, mind you, with bells—if you will be good.” “I don’t want that.” How tight she held his hand and how black were the childish eyes gazing up at him. “I’ll tell you, Medon, you can give the hoop to Dryas. School will be hard for Dryas. It’s going to be so easy for me.” “But, my dear little mistress, you cannot go. There are no girls at the school.” Medon felt the hand tighten sharply in his. The child was looking off at a distance. Then with complete change she slipped her hand out of his. “Yes, you and Dryas go,” she said. She ran quickly up the stair to the women’s apartments—no doubt to cry alone, and Medon, seizing his opportunity, fairly fled with his charge from the house. Medon carried the little boy’s lyre and very peacefully they walked along the road toward the Precinct. They had gone some distance when Medon heard running steps behind him, and, turning, saw to his amazement Theria as if on wings, her black hair streaming behind, her chubby arms clasping a lyre. “I’m going!” she cried. “I will; I will!” And then it was that Medon had to carry back along the road a strange wild creature that fought and kicked and bit and clutched at his hair.