Ceres sat before the hearth with the child in her lap, and the
fire-light making her shadow dance upon the ceiling overhead. She
undressed the little prince, and bathed him all over with some fragrant
liquid out of a vase. The next thing she did was to rake back the red
embers, and make a hollow place among them, just where the backlog had
been. At last, while the baby was crowing, and clapping its fat little
hands, and laughing in the nurse's face (just as you may have seen your
little brother or sister do before going into its warm bath), Ceres
suddenly laid him, all naked as he was, in the hollow among the red-hot
embers. She then raked the ashes over him, and turned quietly away.
You may imagine, if you can, how Queen Metanira shrieked, thinking
nothing less than that her dear child would be burned to a cinder. She
burst forth from her hiding place, and running to the hearth, raked open
the fire, and snatched up poor little Prince Demophooen out of his bed of
live coals, one of which he was griping in each of his fists. He
immediately set up a grievous cry, as babies are apt to do when rudely
startled out of a sound sleep. To the queen's astonishment and joy, she
could perceive no token of the child's being injured by the hot fire in
which he had lain. She now turned to Mother Ceres, and asked her to
explain the mystery.
"Foolish woman," answered Ceres, "did you not promise to intrust this
poor infant entirely to me? You little know the mischief you have done
him.
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