Winged slippers, and all such high-flying contrivances, are
seldom quite easy to manage until one grows a little accustomed to them.
Quicksilver laughed at his companion's involuntary activity, and told
him that he must not be in so desperate a hurry, but must wait for the
invisible helmet.
The good-natured Nymphs had the helmet, with its dark tuft of waving
plumes, all in readiness to put upon his head. And now there happened
about as wonderful an incident as anything that I have yet told you.
The instant before the helmet was put on, there stood Perseus, a
beautiful young man, with golden ringlets and rosy cheeks, the crooked
sword by his side, and the brightly polished shield upon his arm--a
figure that seemed all made up of courage, sprightliness, and glorious
light. But when the helmet had descended over his white brow, there was
no longer any Perseus to be seen! Nothing but empty air! Even the
helmet, that covered him with its invisibility, had vanished!
"Where are you, Perseus?" asked Quicksilver.
"Why, here, to be sure!" answered Perseus, very quietly, although his
voice seemed to come out of the transparent atmosphere. "Just where I
was a moment ago. Don't you see me?"
"No, indeed!" answered his friend. "You are hidden under the helmet.
But, if I cannot see you, neither can the Gorgons. Follow me, therefore,
and we will try your dexterity in using the winged slippers.
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