“I see, sir,” said Ulysses, “that you are an excellent gardener—­what pains you take with it, to be sure.  There is not a single plant, not a fig tree, vine, olive, pear, nor flower bed, but bears the trace of your attention.  I trust, however, that you will not be offended if I say that you take better care of your garden than of yourself.  You are old, unsavoury, and very meanly clad.  It cannot be because you are idle that your master takes such poor care of you, indeed your face and figure have nothing of the slave about them, and proclaim you of noble birth.  I should have said that you were one of those who should wash well, eat well, and lie soft at night as old men have a right to do; but tell me, and tell me true, whose bondman are you, and in whose garden are you working?  Tell me also about another matter.  Is this place that I have come to really Ithaca?  I met a man just now who said so, but he was a dull fellow, and had not the patience to hear my story out when I was asking him about an old friend of mine, whether he was still living, or was already dead and in the house of Hades.  Believe me when I tell you that this man came to my house once when I was in my own country and never yet did any stranger come to me whom I liked better.  He said that his family came from Ithaca and that his father was Laertes, son of Arceisius.  I received him hospitably, making him welcome to all the abundance of my house, and when he went away I gave him all customary presents.  I gave him seven talents of fine gold, and a cup of solid silver with flowers chased upon it.  I gave him twelve light cloaks, and as many pieces of tapestry; I also gave him twelve cloaks of single fold, twelve rugs, twelve fair mantles, and an equal number of shirts.  To all this I added four good looking women skilled in all useful arts, and I let him take his choice.”

His father shed tears and answered, “Sir, you have indeed come to the country that you have named, but it is fallen into the hands of wicked people.  All this wealth of presents has been given to no purpose.  If you could have found your friend here alive in Ithaca, he would have entertained you hospitably and would have requited your presents amply when you left him—­as would have been only right considering what you had already given him.  But tell me, and tell me true, how many years is it since you entertained this guest—­my unhappy son, as ever was?  Alas!  He has perished far from his own country; the fishes of the sea have eaten him, or he has fallen a prey to the birds and wild beasts of some continent.  Neither his mother, nor I his father, who were his parents, could throw our arms about him and wrap him in his shroud, nor could his excellent and richly dowered wife Penelope bewail her husband as was natural upon his death bed, and close his eyes according to the offices due to the departed.  But now, tell me truly for I want to know.  Who and whence are you—­tell me of your town and parents?  Where is the ship lying that has brought you and your men to Ithaca?  Or were you a passenger on some other man’s ship, and those who brought you here have gone on their way and left you?”