One haughty suitor, named Antinous, rebuked Eumaeus for bringing a beggar to the palace. ‘Have we not here vagrants enough,’ he said in angry tones, ‘killjoys of the feast?’ And he seized a footstool and struck Odysseus on the shoulder. Penelope heard how Antinous had treated the stranger in her halls and she was angry. Turning to her old nurse Eurycleia she said, ‘Nurse, they are all enemies, for they all devise evil continually, but of them all Antinous is the most like to black fate. Some hapless stranger is roaming about the house, begging alms of the men as his needs bid him; all the others filled his wallet and gave him somewhat, but Antinous smote him at the base of the right shoulder with a stool.’ Then she summoned Eumaeus and bade him send the stranger to her, for she wished to know if he had heard aught of Odysseus as he wandered from place to place. So when evening came the old nurse brought a settle, spread over it a fleece, and placed it near to Penelope. Then the beggar was brought to the queen’s room, and, sitting on the settle, he told to her many a tale, and some were true and some were false, for he would not yet have her know that he himself was her lord Odysseus. Penelope wept as she listened to the stories the stranger told. For he had seen Odysseus, and she thought that her husband might yet return in time to save her from the suitors whom she despised. But at length the queen dried her tears and called to Eurycleia to come wash the feet of the stranger, who was of the same age as her master. The old woman answered, ‘Gladly will I wash his feet, for many strangers travel-worn have ere now come hither, but I say that I have never seen any so like another as this stranger is like Odysseus, in fashion, in voice, and in feet.’ Then the king feared lest his old nurse should know him, and he turned his face from the hearth. But she, as she tended him, saw a scar on the spot where a boar had wounded him long years before, and she knew her master had come home. Tears well-nigh choked her, yet she touched his chin lightly and said, ‘Yea, verily, thou art Odysseus, my dear child.’ But when she would have told the queen, Odysseus bade her be silent, until he had taken revenge on the princes who were feasting in his palace. As she dismissed the stranger, Penelope told him that on the morrow the suitors held a feast, when they were to contend for her hand. ‘Him who shall most easily bend the bow of Odysseus I have promised to wed,’ she said. ‘Then will I go and forsake this house, this house of my wedlock, so fair and filled with all livelihood, which methinks I shall yet remember, aye, in a dream.’ Then Odysseus answered, ‘Wife revered of Odysseus, no longer delay this contest in thy halls; for lo, Odysseus will be here before these men, for all their handling of this polished bow, shall have strung it and shot the arrow to the mark.’ [Illustration: ‘Yea, verily thou art Odysseus’]