So speaking, he led Odysseus to his hut.  He laid some brushwood on the floor, spread over it the soft, shaggy skin of a wild goat, and bade Odysseus be seated.  Then he went out to the sties, killed two sucking pigs, and roasted them daintily.  When they were ready he cut off the choicest bits and gave them to Odysseus, with a bowl of honey-sweet wine.

While Odysseus ate and drank, the swineherd talked to him of the greed and wastefulness of the wooers, and in silence Odysseus listened, planning in his heart how he might punish them.

“Tell me thy master’s name,” he said at length.  “I have traveled in many lands.  Perchance I may have seen him, and may give thee news of him.”

But the swineherd answered: 

“Each vagrant who comes straying to the land of Ithaca goes to my mistress with lying tales of how he has seen or heard of my master.  She receives them all kindly, and asks many questions, while tears run down her cheeks.  You, too, old man, would quickly make up a story if any one would give thee some new clothes.  My master is surely dead, and wherever I may go I shall never again find a lord so gentle.”

Then said Odysseus: 

“My friend, I swear to thee that Odysseus shall return.  In this year, as the old moon wanes and the new is born, he shall return to his home.”

When the other herds returned that evening they found Odysseus and their master still deep in talk.  At night the swineherd made a feast of the best that he had, and still they talked, almost until dawn.  The night was black and stormy, and a drenching rain blotted out the moon, but the swineherd, leaving Odysseus lying in the bed he had made for him, with his own thick mantle spread over him, went outside and lay under a rock that sheltered him from the storm, keeping guard on the white-tusked boars that slept around him.  And Odysseus knew that he had still at least one servant who was faithful and true.

While Odysseus dwelt with the swineherd, Athene sought Telemachus and bade him hasten home.  Speedily Telemachus went back to his ship and his men.  The hawsers were loosed, the white sail hauled up, and Athene sent a fresh breeze that made the ship cut through the water like a white-winged bird.  It was night when they passed the island where the wooers awaited their coming, and in the darkness none saw them go by.

By daybreak they reached Ithaca, and Telemachus, as Athene had bidden him, sent on the men to the harbor with the ship, but made them put him ashore on the woody coast near the swineherd’s dwelling.

With his bronze-shod spear in his hand, Telemachus strode up the rocky path.  Odysseus and the swineherd had kindled a fire, and were preparing the morning meal, when Odysseus heard the noise of footsteps.  He looked out and saw a tall lad with yellow hair and bright eyes, and a fearless, noble face.  “Surely here is a friend,” he said to the swineherd.  “Thy dogs are not barking, but jump up and fawn on him.”