With these insulting words he gave poor Ulysses a sharp kick. Ulysses reflected for a moment whether he should dash the wretch to the ground—an easy task for him—or pretend to be weak and fearful. He chose the latter course and took the insult humbly. But Eumæus defied the goatherd to his face and prayed to the holy nymphs of the well that they should cause Ulysses to return and punish the wretch. To avoid the fellow the two companions let him go ahead with his goats. “Thou dog,” he called back, “some day I shall pack thee aboard ship and sell thee as a slave.” When Ulysses and the swineherd approached the royal palace, the beggar exclaimed with profound emotion: “Ah! one can see that this must be the stately dwelling of Ulysses. Inside, sounds of festivity, and outside the defiant battlements the impregnable wall. A rich and mighty king must live here.” “Do thou enter first,” he said to Eumæus. “I will soon follow.” Thus they passed into the courtyard. Behold, in the corner on the dunghill lay a dog called Argos. He was thin and wasted and swarming with vermin. A year before his departure for Troy, Ulysses had trained this dog for the chase. He had often played with him as a puppy, but when he had gone, Argos had been neglected. Now he was too weak to crawl, but when he saw Ulysses near to him he raised himself painfully and wagged his tail. When he tried to run to his master his legs gave way and down he sank. Ulysses recognized the faithful animal and turned aside to brush away a tear. Then he said to Eumæus: “Tell me, Eumæus. The animal there on the dunghill is well built. Was he not fleet of foot?” “Yes,” answered the swineherd; “he, too, misses his good master. Thou shouldst have seen him twenty years ago. He was his master’s favorite, for he had trained him, and no prey was so swift that Argos could not overtake it. But no one tends him now, and he has to pick up a miserable living in the courtyard. Servants are careless when the master is abroad.” The swineherd entered the house and was spied by Telemachus, who called him to his side where he was served with bread and meat. But Ulysses remained a while without to watch the faithful dog draw his last breath. Then he, too, entered the house and seated himself near the door in the hall. At first the feasters did not notice him, but Telemachus sent him food. He laid it down upon the dirty wallet and ate, while the minstrel sang sweet songs to the music of his harp. When the singer had finished, Ulysses went among the suitors to collect alms, that he might discover which ones were kindly disposed and which were hard and cruel. Many gave to him pityingly and asked one another in surprise who the old man was and whence he came. “The swineherd brought him here,” cried Melantheus. “Who he is I know not.”