In the middle of a field, there was a heap of whitened bones, a great
deal higher than a haystack. Nothing else was ever seen of the dreadful
Chimaera!
And when Bellerophon had won the victory, he bent forward and kissed
Pegasus, while the tears stood in his eyes.
"Back now, my beloved steed!" said he. "Back to the Fountain of Pirene!"
Pegasus skimmed through the air, quicker than ever he did before, and
reached the fountain in a very short time. And there he found the old
man leaning on his staff, and the country fellow watering his cow, and
the pretty maiden filling her pitcher.
"I remember now," quoth the old man, "I saw this winged horse once
before, when I was quite a lad. But he was ten times handsomer in those
days."
"I own a cart horse worth three of him!" said the country fellow. "If
this pony were mine, the first thing I should do would be to clip his
wings!"
But the poor maiden said nothing, for she had always the luck to be
afraid at the wrong time. So she ran away, and let her pitcher tumble
down, and broke it.
"Where is the gentle child," asked Bellerophon, "who used to keep me
company, and never lost his faith, and never was weary of gazing into
the fountain?"
"Here am I, dear Bellerophon!" said the child, softly.
For the little boy had spent day after day on the margin of Pirene,
waiting for his friend to come back; but when he perceived Bellerophon
descending through the clouds, mounted on the winged horse, he had
shrunk back into the shrubbery.
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