The mountain tops took fire and the clouds began to smoke. Plants withered, the leafy branches of the trees burned, the harvests blazed and the fields were parched with heat. The whole world was on fire. Great cities perished with their beautiful towers and high walls, and entire nations with all their people were reduced to ashes. It is said that the river Nile fled away and hid its head in the desert where it still lies concealed. The earth cracked and the sea shrank. Dry plains lay where there had been oceans before and the mountains that had been covered by the sea lifted up their heads and became islands. Even Neptune, the god of the sea, was driven back by the heat when he tried to lift his head above the surface of the waters, and the Earth looked up to Mount Olympus and called to Jupiter for help. It was indeed time for the gods to act. Jupiter mounted to the tall tower where he kept his forked lightnings and from which he spread the rain clouds over the earth. He tossed his thunderbolts right and left and, brandishing a dart of lightning in his right hand, he aimed it at Phaeton and threw it, tossing him from his chariot down, down through space. The charioteer fell in a trail of fire like a shooting star. One of the great rivers of the earth received him and tried to cool his burning frame, but he was never again to see the palace of the Sun. His recklessness had brought him, not honor, but destruction. Phaeton's friend, Cycnus, stood beside the bank of the river mourning for him and even plunged beneath the surface of the water to see if he could bring him back to the earth. But this angered the gods and they changed Cycnus to the swan who floats always on the water, continually thrusting its head down as if it were still looking for the fated charioteer of the skies. Even the sea shell tells the story of Phaeton. Hold it to your ear and listen to its plaintive singing of the lad who lost a place in the palace of the sun because he drove the chariot of light for his own pride and without thought of others. WHEN APOLLO WAS HERDSMAN. Apollo had incurred the anger of his father, Jupiter, and for the very good reason that this god of light had interfered with Jupiter's will. It was Jupiter's privilege to throw thunderbolts about whenever he wished and to strike down anyone he chose. He kept the Cyclopes busy night and day forging his bolts down under the mountains so that he might have a never-failing supply. One day a thunderbolt directed by Jove hit Aesculapius, a man of the Greeks who could heal almost any sickness among mortals by means of his herbs. Apollo looked upon this physician as an adopted son, because his art of healing brought so much joy and light to men. He resented the injury done him by Jupiter's hand and he did what even mortals do when they are angry; Apollo vented his wrath on whoever was handiest. He aimed his arrows at those innocent workmen, the Cyclopes, and wounded several.