that ran wild over the mysterious hole in the hillside.

When Cadmus had thrust a passage through the tangled boughs,
and made his way into the bower, he did not at first discern

the half-hidden cavity. But soon he felt a cold stream of air
rushing out of it, with so much force that it shook the

ringlets on his cheek. Pulling away the shrubbery which
clustered over the hole, he bent forward, and spoke in a

distinct but reverential tone, as if addressing some unseen
personage inside of the mountain.

"Sacred oracle of Delphi," said he, "whither shall I go next in
quest of my dear sister Europa?"

There was at first a deep silence, and then a rushing sound, or
a noise like a long sigh, proceeding out of the interior of the

earth. This cavity, you must know, was looked upon as a sort of
fountain of truth, which sometimes gushed out in audible words;

although, for the most part, these words were such a riddle
that they might just as well have staid at the bottom of the

hole. But Cadmus was more fortunate than many others who went
to Delphi in search of truth. By and by, the rushing noise

began to sound like articulate language. It repeated, over and
over again, the following sentence, which, after all, was so

like the vague whistle of a blast of air, that Cadmus really
did not quite know whether it meant anything or not:

"Seek her no more! Seek her no more! Seek her no more!"
"What, then, shall I do?" asked Cadmus.

For, ever since he was a child, you know, it had been the great
object of his life to find his sister. From the very hour that

he left following the butterfly in the meadow, near his
father's palace, he had done his best to follow Europa, over

land and sea. And now, if he must give up the search, he seemed
to have no more business in the world.

But again the sighing gust of air grew into something like a
hoarse voice.

"Follow the cow!" it said. "Follow the cow! Follow the cow!"
And when these words had been repeated until Cadmus was tired

of hearing them (especially as he could not imagine what cow it
was, or why he was to follow her), the gusty hole gave vent to

another sentence.
"Where the stray cow lies down, there is your home."

These words were pronounced but a single time, and died away
into a whisper before Cadmus was fully satisfied that he had

caught the meaning. He put other questions, but received no
answer; only the gust of wind sighed continually out of the

cavity, and blew the withered leaves rustling along the ground
before it.

"Did there really come any words out of the hole?" thought
Cadmus; "or have I been dreaming all this while?"

He turned away from the oracle, and thought himself no wiser
than when he came hither" target="_blank" title="ad.到那里 a.那边的">thither. Caring little what might happen to

him, he took the first path that offered itself, and went along
at a sluggish pace; for, having no object in view, nor any

reason to go one way more than another, it would certainly have
been foolish to make haste. Whenever he met anybody, the old

question was at his tongue's end.
"Have you seen a beautiful maiden, dressed like a king's

daughter, and mounted on a snow-white bull, that gallops as
swiftly as the wind?"

But, remembering what the oracle had said, he only half uttered
the words, and then mumbled the rest indistinctly; and from his

confusion, people must have imagined that this handsome young
man had lost his wits.

I know not how far Cadmus had gone, nor could he himself have
told you, when at no great distance before him, he beheld a

brindled cow. She was lying down by the wayside, and quietly
chewing her cud; nor did she take any notice of the young man

until he had approached pretty nigh. Then, getting leisurely
upon her feet, and giving her head a gentle toss, she began to

move along at a moderate pace, often pausing just long enough
to crop a mouthful of grass. Cadmus loitered behind, whistling

idly to himself, and scarcely noticing the cow; until the
thought occurred to him, whether this could possibly be the

animal which, according to the oracle's response, was to serve
him for a guide. But he smiled at himself for fancying such a

thing. He could not seriously think that this was the cow,
because she went along so quietly, behaving just like any other

cow. Evidently she neither knew nor cared so much as a wisp of
hay about Cadmus, and was only thinking how to get her living

along the wayside, where the herbage was green and fresh.
Perhaps she was going home to be milked.

"Cow, cow, cow!" cried Cadmus. "Hey, Brindle, hey! Stop, my
good cow!"

He wanted to come up with the cow, so as to examine her, and
see if she would appear to know him, or whether there were any

peculiarities to distinguish her from a thousand other cows,
whose only business is to fill the milk-pail, and sometimes

kick it over. But still the brindled cow trudged on, whisking
her tail to keep the flies away, and taking as little notice of

Cadmus as she well could. If he walked slowly, so did the cow,
and seized the opportunity to graze. If he quickened his pace,

the cow went just so much the faster; and once, when Cadmus
tried to catch her by running, she threw out her heels, stuck

her tail straight on end, and set off at a gallop, looking as
queerly as cows generally do, while putting themselves to their

speed.
When Cadmus saw that it was impossible to come up with her, he

walked on moderately, as before. The cow, too, went leisurely
on, without looking behind. Wherever the grass was greenest,

there she nibbled a mouthful or two. Where a brook glistened
brightly across the path, there the cow drank, and breathed a

comfortable sigh, and drank again. and trudged onward at the
pace that best suited herself and Cadmus.

"I do believe," thought Cadmus, "that this may be the cow that
was foretold me. If it be the one, I suppose she will lie down

somewhere hereabouts."
Whether it were the oracular cow or some other one, it did not

seem reasonable that she should travel a great way farther. So,
whenever they reached a particularly pleasant spot on a breezy

hillside, or in a sheltered vale, or flowerymeadow, on the
shore of a calm lake, or along the bank of a clear stream,

Cadmus looked eagerly around to see if the situation would suit
him for a home. But still, whether he liked the place or no,

the brindled cow never offered to lie down. On she went at the
quiet pace of a cow going homeward to the barn yard; and, every

moment, Cadmus expected to see a milkmaid approaching with a
pail, or a herdsmanrunning to head the stray animal, and turn

her back towards the pasture. But no milkmaid came; no herdsman
drove her back; and Cadmus followed the stray Brindle till he

was almost ready to drop down with fatigue.
"O brindled cow," cried he, in a tone of despair, "do you never

mean to stop?"
He had now grown too intent on following her to think of

lagging behind, however long the way, and whatever might be his
fatigue. Indeed, it seemed as if there were something about the

animal that bewitched people. Several persons who happened to
see the brindled cow, and Cadmus following behind, began to