quietly in Melas' arms, but now something seemed to disturb him. He
lifted his head, gave a sudden bleat, and somehow flung himself out of
Melas' arms directly into the basket of eels! Such a squirming as there
was then! The eels squirmed, and the lamb squirmed, and if his legs had
not been securely tied together he undoubtedly would have flopped right
into the water, and then this story would never have been written.

The fisherman gave an angry roar. "Keep your miserable lamb out of my eel
basket," he shouted.

Melas had not waited to be told. He had already seized the lamb, but it
struggled hard to get away, and between the lamb and the eels there was a
disturbance that threatened to upset the boat.

"Sit still," roared the captain. "Have you no sense? Do you all want to
go to the bottom?"

"May Poseidon defend us!" cried the old woman with the bread. "I've no
wish to be made into eel-bait."

"Nor I," said one of the farmers angrily. "You'd better kill your lambs
before you take them to market," he said to Melas; "it will be safer for
the rest of us."

"The lamb is not for market," Melas answered. "I would not dare kill it.
It bears a portent on its brow!"

"A portent?" gasped the old woman.

"May all the Gods defend us! What portent?" Melas pointed to the horn.