It did not take Phaethon long to decide—­he had made up his mind on the way; and his words fairly tumbled over each other as he cried eagerly: 

“Then I’ll drive the sun-chariot for a day!”

Apollo was horrified, for he knew that he alone of the gods could manage the fiery steeds; and if great Jupiter himself could not do it, what would happen if they were placed in the power of this slight boy?  He begged Phaethon to release him from his promise, but—­

“You promised, you promised!” repeated the boy.  “You swore by the Styx, and you can’t break your word.”

This was true, as Apollo knew well; and at length, with a sigh, he turned and called to his servants, the Hours, who stood ready to attend him on his journey: 

“Harness my steeds, and make sure that everything is right about the chariot.”

While this was being done, Apollo explained carefully to his son the dangers of the way, hoping yet to turn him from his purpose.

“The path runs steeply upward at first,” he said, “and with all their strength the horses can scarce drag the chariot.  During the middle of the day the course is high, high in the heavens, and it will sicken you and make you dizzy if you look down.  But the latter part of the drive is most dangerous, for it slopes rapidly down, and if the horses are not tightly reined in, horses, chariot and driver will fall headlong into the sea.”

Nothing frightened Phaethon.

“You see,” he explained, “it’s not as if I didn’t know how to drive.  I’ve often driven my grandfather’s horses, and they are wild and strong.”

By this time the magnificent golden chariot and the six horses of white fire were ready, and after one last plea to his son, Apollo permitted him to mount the seat.  He anointed the boy’s face with a cooling lotion, that the heat might not scorch him, and placed the crown of beams about his head.

“And now,” he said, “you must be off.  Already the people on earth are wondering why the sun does not rise.  Do remember, my boy, not to use the whip, and to choose a path across the heavens which is neither too high nor too low.”

With but scant attention to his father’s advice, Phaethon gave the word to his steeds and dashed out of the gates which Aurora opened for him.  And thus began a day which the gods on Olympus and the people on earth never forgot.

[Illustration:  In vain Phaethon pulled at the reins.]

The horses easily perceived that some other hand than their master’s held the lines, and they promptly became unmanageable.  In vain Phaethon pulled at the reins; in vain he called the steeds by name.  Up the sky they dashed, and then, first to the south, then to the north, they took their zigzag course across the heavens.  What a sight it must have presented from below, this sun reeling crazily about the sky!  Worst of all, however, the horses did not keep at