and cheese for Melas and the children. The Twins were so excited they
would have danced along the road instead of walking if it hadn't been
for the basket, but every time Daphne got too lively, Dion said,
"Remember the eggs," and every time Dion forgot and skipped, Daphne said
the same thing to him.

They had gone nearly a mile in this way, when the road took them to the
crest of a hill, from the top of which it seemed as if they could see the
whole world. Just below them lay the little seaport town of Ambelaca, and
beyond it the blue waters of the bay sparkled and danced in the morning
breeze. On the farther side of the bay they could see the white buildings
of the Piraeus, and beyond that in the distance was a chain of blue
mountains over which the sun was just peeping. That sight was so
beautiful that the children set down their basket, and Melas too stood
still to gaze.

"Those blue mountains beyond the Piraeus are the hills of Athens," said
Melas. "The one with the flat top is the sacred hill of the Acropolis.
And right down there," he added, pointing to a white house on a near-by
hill-top, overlooking the sea, "is the house of Euripides, the Poet. He
has come from the noise and confusion of the city to find a quiet refuge
upon Salamis."

"Does he write real poetry?" asked Daphne.

"They say he does," answered Melas, "though I never read any of it
myself."

"I wish I could write," sighed Daphne, "even if it wasn't poetry! Even if
it were only curses to hang around a scarecrow's neck. I'd like to