"Just like me, lad. Come on!"

Charmides snatched a handful of figs and rolled out of the tent
squealing with joy. Menon came after him, laughing, and Glaucon followed
to care for them. "The sun is setting," said Menon. "It will soon be
dark, and to-morrow are the games. They will keep us busy when they
begin, so you must use your eyes to-day if you want to see the fair."

He stopped on the hillside and looked down into the sacred place.

"It is wonderful!" he said, half to himself. "The home of glory! I love
every stone of it. I have not been here since I myself won the single
race. And now my son is to win it. That was when you were a baby,
Charmides."

"I know, father," whispered the boy with shining eyes. "I have kissed
your olive wreath, where it hangs above our altar at home."

The father put his hand lovingly on the boy's yellow head.

"By the help of Hermes there soon will be a green one there for you to
kiss, lad. The gods are very good to crown our family twice."

"I wish there were crowns for lame boys to win," said Charmides. "I
would win one!"

He said that fiercely and clenched his fist. His father looked kindly
into his eyes and spoke solemnly.

"I think you would, my son. Perhaps there are such crowns."