“I will offer a sheep,” replied Paaker, who did not perceive the subtle irony that lurked in Pentaur’s words, and who was accustomed to pay for the gifts of the Divinity in proportion to their value to himself.

Pentaur thought of the verdict which Gagabu, only two evenings since, had passed on the Mohar, and it occurred to him that he would test how far the man’s superstition would lead him.  So he asked, while he suppressed a smile: 

“And if I can foretell nothing bad, but also nothing actually good?”—­

“An antelope, and four geese,” answered Paaker promptly.

“But if I were altogether disinclined to put myself at your service?” asked Pentaur.  “If I thought it unworthy of a priest to let the Gods be paid in proportion to their favors towards a particular person, like corrupt officials; if I now showed you—­you—­and I have known you from a school-boy, that there are things that cannot be bought with inherited wealth?”

The pioneer drew back astonished and angry, but Pentaur continued calmly—­

“I stand here as the minister of the Divinity; and nevertheless, I see by your countenance, that you were on the point of lowering yourself by showing to me your violent and extortionate spirit.

“The Immortals send us dreams, not to give us a foretaste of joy or caution us against danger, but to remind us so to prepare our souls that we may submit quietly to suffer evil, and with heartfelt gratitude accept the good; and so gain from each profit for the inner life.  I will not interpret your dream!  Come without gifts, but with a humble heart, and with longing for inward purification, and I will pray to the Gods that they may enlighten me, and give you such interpretation of even evil dreams that they may be fruitful in blessing.

“Leave me, and quit the temple!”

Paaker ground his teeth with rage; but he controlled himself, and only said as he slowly withdrew: 

“If your office had not already been taken from you, the insolence with which you have dismissed me might have cost you your place.  We shall meet again, and then you shall learn that inherited wealth in the right hand is worth more than you will like.”

“Another enemy!” thought the poet, when he found himself alone and stood erect in the glad consciousness of having done right.

During Paaker’s interview with the poet, the dwarf Nemu had chatted to the porter, and had learned from him all that had previously occurred.

Paaker mounted his chariot pale with rage, and whipped on his horses before the dwarf had clambered up the step; but the slave seized the little man, and set him carefully on his feet behind his master.

“The villian, the scoundrel! he shall repent it—­Pentaur is he called! the hound!” muttered the pioneer to himself.

The dwarf lost none of his words, and when he caught the name of Pentaur he called to the pioneer, and said—­