he was one of the oldest of the priests of Serapis, who was chief in
charge of the sacred vessels, who was wont never to speak to any one but
the high-priest, and who was famous even among his Greek fellow-
countrymen for the skill with which he could repair broken metal-work,
make the securest locks, and work in silver and gold.

When the sisters first came into the temple five years since, Irene had
been very much afraid of this man, who was so small as almost to be a
dwarf, broad shouldered and powerfully knit, while his wrinkled face
looked like a piece of rough cork-bark, and he was subject to a painful
complaint in his feet which often prevented his walking; her fears had
not vexed but only amused the priestly smith, who whenever he met the
child, then eleven years old, would turn his lips up to his big red nose,
roll his eyes, and grunt hideously to increase the terror that came over
her.

He was not ill-natured, but he had neither wife nor child, nor brother,
nor sister, nor friend, and every human being so keenly desires that
others should have some feeling about him, that many a one would rather
be feared than remain unheeded.

After Irene had got over her dread she would often entreat the old man--
who was regarded as stern and inaccessible by all the other dwellers in
the temple--in her own engaging and coaxing way to make a face for her,
and he would do it and laugh when the little one, to his delight and her
own, was terrified at it and ran away; and just lately when Irene, having
hurt her foot, was obliged to keep her room for a few days, an unheard of
thing had occurred: he had asked Klea with the greatest sympathy how her
sister was getting on, and had given her a cake for her.