“Here are two birds of a feather!” shouted the fellow, in jeering tones—­“that wretched swineherd, and a ravenous beggar.  A fine guest thou art bringing to our young masters, and a fair welcome, without doubt, they will give him.  Were it not better that I took him with me to my farm?  He could sweep out the pens, and gather green shoots for the kids; and we would give him whey to drink, and put some flesh on these shrunk shanks[1] of his.  But the lazy knave will do no work; he would rather rub his shoulders against every door-post, begging for broken meat.  Broken bones will be his portion, if the wooers see him near the house of Odysseus.”

[Footnote 1:  “A world too wide for his shrunk shanks,”—­Shakespeare:  “As You Like It.”]

While he uttered these taunts Melanthius had gradually come close to Odysseus, and with the last word he lifted up his foot and kicked him with all his force on the hip.  Odysseus stood like a rock, and stirred not an inch from his ground; his first impulse was to seize the ruffian by the ankles, and dash out his brains on the road; but he checked himself with a great effort, and said not a word.

But Eumaeus rebuked the goatherd, and invoked the vengeance of heaven against him.  “Would that our noble master were here!” he cried, “he would soon make an end of thee, thou braggart!  Unfaithful herdsman, that rovest ever about the town, leaving thy flock to underlings!”

“Go to, thou dog!” retorted Melanthius, with a savage laugh.  “Wilt thou be ever harping on that string?  Thy noble master is dust long ago, and I would that Telemachus were lying with him.  As for thee, I will one day cast thee bound into a ship, and sell thee across the seas for a great price.”

With that he left them, and stepped briskly out towards the house, while Odysseus and Eumaeus followed more slowly.  Presently they came to an extensive enclosure, standing conspicuously on a high level plateau overlooking the town.  Behind the fence towered the roof of a great timber house.  They passed through the outer gates, and as they entered the courtyard they heard the sounds of a harp, and the steam of roast flesh was borne to their nostrils.

“Take heed now,” said Eumaeus, lowering his voice, as they approached the door of the house.  “I will go in first, and do thou follow me close, lest anyone find thee outside and do thee some hurt.”

“Fear nothing for me,” answered Odysseus, “I am no stranger to blows, for I have been sore buffeted on land and sea.  The belly is a stern taskmaster, which compels us to face both wounds and death.”