“Thank you,” said King Pluto, rather dryly.  “But I can see, plainly enough, that you think my palace a dusky prison, and me the iron-hearted keeper of it.  And an iron heart I should surely have, if I could detain you here any longer, my poor child, when it is now six months since you tasted food.  I give you your liberty.  Go with Quicksilver.  Hasten home to your dear mother.”

Now, although you may not have supposed it, Proserpina found it impossible to take leave of poor King Pluto without some regrets, and a good deal of compunction for not telling him about the pomegranate.  She even shed a tear or two, thinking how lonely and cheerless the great palace would seem to him, with all its ugly glare of artificial light, after she herself—­his one little ray of natural sunshine, whom he had stolen, to be sure, but only because he valued her so much—­after she should have departed.  I know not how many kind things she might have said to the disconsolate king of the mines, had not Quicksilver hurried her away.

“Come along quickly,” whispered he in her ear, “or His Majesty may change his royal mind.  And take care, above all things, that you say nothing of what was brought you on the golden salver.”

In a very short time they had passed the great gateway (leaving the three-headed Cerberus barking, and yelping, and growling, with threefold din, behind them), and emerged upon the surface of the earth.  It was delightful to behold, as Proserpina hastened along, how the path grew verdant behind and on either side of her.  Wherever she set her blessed foot, there was at once a dewy flower.  The violets gushed up along the wayside.  The grass and the grain began to sprout with tenfold vigour and luxuriance, to make up for the dreary months that had been wasted in barrenness.  The starved cattle immediately set to work grazing, after their long fast, and ate enormously all day, and got up at midnight to eat more.  But I can assure you it was a busy time of year with the farmers, when they found the summer coming upon them with such a rush.  Nor must I forget to say that all the birds in the whole world hopped about upon the newly blossoming trees, and sang together in a prodigious ecstasy of joy.

Mother Ceres had returned to her deserted home, and was sitting disconsolately on the doorstep, with her torch burning in her hand.  She had been idly watching the flame for some moments past, when all at once it flickered and went out.

“What does this mean?” thought she.  “It was an enchanted torch, and should have kept burning till my child came back.”

Lifting her eyes, she was surprised to see a sudden verdure flashing over the brown and barren fields, exactly as you may have observed a golden hue gleaming far and wide across the landscape, from the just risen sun.

“Does the earth disobey me?” exclaimed Mother Ceres, indignantly.  “Does it presume to be green, when I have bidden it be barren, until my daughter shall be restored to my arms?”