To the Fountain of Pirene, therefore, people's great-grandfathers had
been in the habit of going (as long as they were youthful and retained
their faith in winged horses), in hopes of getting a glimpse at the
beautiful Pegasus. But, of late years, he had been very seldom seen.
Indeed, there were many of the country folks, dwelling within half an
hour's walk of the fountain, who had never beheld Pegasus, and did not
believe that there was any such creature in existence. The country
fellow to whom Bellerophon was speaking chanced to be one of those
incredulous persons.
And that was the reason why he laughed.
"Pegasus, indeed!" cried he, turning up his nose as high as such a flat
nose could be turned up--"Pegasus, indeed! A winged horse, truly! Why,
friend, are you in your senses? Of what use would wings be to a horse?
Could he drag the plough so well, think you? To be sure, there might be
a little saving in the expense of shoes; but then, how would a man like
to see his horse flying out of the stable window?--yes, or whisking him
up above the clouds, when he only wanted to ride to mill? No, no! I
don't believe in Pegasus. There never was such a ridiculous kind of a
horse fowl made!"
"I have some reason to think otherwise," said Bellerophon, quietly.
And then he turned to an old, gray man, who was leaning on a staff, and
listening very attentively, with his head stretched forward and one hand
at his ear, because, for the last twenty years, he had been getting
rather deaf.
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