By this time the whole household was afoot, and a score of busy hands were at work, under the direction of Eurycleia, preparing for the coming of the wooers.  For it was a general holiday, being the festival of Apollo, and the guests were expected earlier than usual.  Some went to the public fountain to fetch water, some swept and sprinkled the floor, and some sponged the tables and scoured the drinking vessels.  Presently the herdsmen came in, driving before them the beasts for sacrifice; and of these the first to arrive was Eumaeus, who brought three fat hogs as his part of the daily tribute.  Leaving his charge to grub about in the courtyard, he came up to Odysseus, and inquired how he had fared among the wooers on the previous day.  “I fared ill,” answered Odysseus, “and ill fare the villains who deal thus with the stranger under another man’s roof!”

A rude voice here broke in upon him, and Melanthius the goatherd thrust himself between them, jostling Odysseus, and reviling him in brutal terms, “What, still loitering here, thou vagabond?  Wilt thou go begging at other men’s tables, or art thou waiting to taste of my fists?” Odysseus deigned no reply, but shook his head, biding his time.

Another herdsman now entered the courtyard; this was Philoetius, who had charge of the herds of Odysseus on the mainland.  He brought a heifer and two or three fat goats, having crossed over to Ithaca by the ferry.  When he saw Odysseus he took Eumaeus aside, and inquired who he was.  “He is of kingly aspect,” remarked the new-comer, “in spite of his wretched garb.  But even kings may come to beggary, if it be Heaven’s will.”

Having heard from Eumaeus what he had to tell, Philoetius approached Odysseus, and taking his right hand greeted him kindly, saying:  “Welcome, old friend, for my master’s sake!  E’en such, methinks, is his case, if he still lives and looks upon the daylight.  Ah! what a thought is that!  It brings the sweat of agony to my brow when I think that even now he may be wandering in rags from door to door, begging for a morsel of bread, while his flocks and herds roam in thousands on the hills.  What shall I do?  It is not to be borne that all this wealth should increase and multiply, to feed the mouths of thieves and rogues.  Often have I resolved to drive off my cattle into a far country, and no longer to abet these men in their riotous living; but my duty to Telemachus, and the hope that even now my lord may return, still hold me back.”

Perceiving the neatherd to be loyal and staunch, Odysseus resolved to take him partly into his confidence, and answered accordingly:  “Thy hope is nearer to fulfilment than thou thinkest.  Hear me swear, by the hearth of Odysseus, and by the board at which I have fed, that before thou leavest Ithaca thou shalt see thy master with thine own eyes—­thou shalt see him slaying the wooers who play the master here.”

“Would that I might live to behold that day!” cried Philoetius.  “May I never eat bread again, if the wooers felt not the might of my hands.”  Eumaeus also declared himself ready to risk all by the side of Odysseus.