do to live?  Shall I tell you my mind, Aristarchus?  Well, then, I am of opinion that in the condition you are in you cannot love your guests, nor they you for this reason, that you, on the one hand, feel they are a burden to you, and they, on the other, perceive you uneasy and discontented on their account.  And it is to be feared that the discontent will increase on both sides, and that the sense of past favours will wear off; but when you set them to work you will begin to love them, because they will bring you some profit; and when they find that you regard them with more complacency they will not fail to have more love for you.  The remembrance of your kindnesses will be more grateful to them, and the obligations they have to you will be the greater.  In a word, you will be kinder relations and better friends.  Indeed, if what they were to do was a thing worthy of blame, it would be better to die than to think of it; but what they can do is honourable, and becoming of their sex, and whoever knows how to do a thing well will acquit himself of it with honour and pleasure.  Therefore defer no longer to make the proposal to them, since it will be so advantageous to all of you, and be assured they will receive it with joy and pleasure.”  “Good God! what a fine scheme you have proposed!  Indeed, I cannot but approve of it; nay, it has made such a wonderful impression on my mind, that whereas I was lately against borrowing money at all, because I saw that when I had spent it I should not be in a condition to repay it, I am now resolved to go try where I can take some up upon any terms, to buy tools and other materials to set ourselves to work.”

What was proposed was forthwith executed.  Aristarchus bought what he wanted; he laid in a provision of wool, and the ladies worked from morning to night.  This occupation diverted their melancholy, and, instead of the uneasiness there was before between them and Aristarchus, they began to live in a reciprocal satisfaction.  The ladies loved him as their protector, and he considered them as persons who were very useful and necessary to him.

To conclude, some time afterwards Aristarchus came to see Socrates, and related the whole matter to him with great content, and told him the women began to complain that none but he was idle.  “Why do you not put them in mind,” said Socrates, “of the fable of the dog?  For, in the days when beasts could speak, according to the fable, the sheep said to her master, ’You are a strange man; we yield you wool, lambs, and cheeses, and yet you give us nothing but what we can get upon the ground; and the dog, who brings you in no profit, is kindly used, for you feed him with the same bread you eat yourself.’  The dog, overhearing this complaint, answered her:  ’It is not without reason that I am used so well.  It is I who protect you; it is I who hinder thieves from taking you away, and wolves from sucking your blood.  If I were not always keeping watch about you, you would not