The boy was about five years old, with legs so feeble that they could scarcely support the weight of his body, but he had a particularly sweet little face; certainly it was quite without expression, and it was only when he saw Klea coming that tiny Philo's eyes had lighted up with pleasure.
"Drink this milk," said the child's mother, offering the young girl an earthen bowl.

"There is not much and I could not spare it if Philo would eat like other children, but it seems as if it hurt him to swallow.

He drinks two or three drops and eats a mouthful, and then will take no more even if he is beaten." "You have not been beating him again ?" said Klea reproachfully, and drawing the child closer to her.

"My husband--" said the woman, pulling at her dress in some confusion.

"The child was born on a good day and in a lucky hour, and yet he is so puny and weak and will not learn to speak, and that provokes Pianchi." "He will spoil everything again!" exclaimed Klea annoyed.