which were always on the watch, while the other fifty slept.

In my opinion it was hardly worth running so much risk for the sake of a
solid golden apple. Had the apples been sweet, mellow, and juicy, indeed
that would be another matter. There might then have been some sense in
trying to get at them, in spite of the hundred-headed dragon.

But, as I have already told you, it was quite a common thing with young
persons, when tired of too much peace and rest, to go in search of the
garden of the Hesperides. And once the adventure was undertaken by a
hero who had enjoyed very little peace or rest since he came into the
world. At the time of which I am going to speak, he was wandering
through the pleasant land of Italy, with a mighty club in his hand, and
a bow and quiver slung across his shoulders. He was wrapt in the skin of
the biggest and fiercest lion that ever had been seen, and which he
himself had killed; and though, on the whole, he was kind, and generous,
and noble, there was a good deal of the lion's fierceness in his heart.
As he went on his way, he continually inquired whether that were the
right road to the famous garden. But none of the country people knew
anything about the matter, and many looked as if they would have laughed
at the question, if the stranger had not carried so very big a club.

So he journeyed on and on, still making the same inquiry, until, at
last, he came to the brink of a river where some beautiful young women
sat twining wreaths of flowers.

"Can you tell me, pretty maidens," asked the stranger, "whether this is
the right way to the garden of the Hesperides?"

The young women had been having a fine time together, weaving the