sent to enjoy themselves on the beautiful earth, had ever been sick, or
out of sorts.

At length, discovering that, somehow or other, he put a stop to all the
play, Epimetheus judged it best to go back to Pandora, who was in a
humor better suited to his own. But, with a hope of giving her
pleasure, he gathered some flowers, and made them into a wreath, which
he meant to put upon her head. The flowers were very lovely,--roses,
and lilies, and orange-blossoms, and a great many more, which left a
trail of fragrance behind, as Epimetheus carried them along; and the
wreath was put together with as much skill as could reasonably be
expected of a boy. The fingers of little girls, it has always appeared
to me, are the fittest to twine flower-wreaths; but boys could do it, in
those days, rather better than they can now.

And here I must mention that a great black cloud had been gathering in
the sky, for some time past, although it had not yet overspread the sun.
But, just as Epimetheus reached the cottage door, this cloud began to
intercept the sunshine, and thus to make a sudden and sad obscurity.

He entered softly; for he meant, if possible, to steal behind Pandora,
and fling the wreath of flowers over her head, before she should be
aware of his approach. But, as it happened, there was no need of his
treading so very lightly. He might have trod as heavily as he pleased,
--as heavily as a grown man,--as heavily, I was going to say, as an
elephant,--without much probability of Pandora's hearing his footsteps.
She was too intent upon her purpose. At the moment of his entering the
cottage, the naughty child had put her hand to the lid, and was on the
point of opening the mysterious box. Epimetheus beheld her. If he had
cried out, Pandora would probably have withdrawn her hand, and the fatal