But—­and you may see by this how a wrong act of any one mortal is a calamity to the whole world—­by Pandora’s lifting the lid of that miserable box, and by the fault of Epimetheus, too, in not preventing her, these Troubles have obtained a foothold among us, and do not seem very likely to be driven away in a hurry.  For it was impossible, as you will easily guess, that the two children should keep the ugly swarms in their own little cottage.  On the contrary, the first thing that they did was to fling open the doors and windows, in hopes of getting rid of them; and, sure enough, away flew the winged Troubles all abroad, and so pestered and tormented the small people, everywhere about, that none of them so much as smiled for many days afterward.  And, what was very singular, all the flowers and dewy blossoms on earth not one of which had hitherto faded, now began to droop and shed their leaves, after a day or two.  The children, moreover, who before seemed immortal in their childhood, now grew older, day by day, and came soon to be youths and maidens, and men and women by and by, and aged people, before they dreamed of such a thing.

Meanwhile, the naughty Pandora, and hardly less naughty Epimetheus, remained in their cottage.  Both of them had been grievously stung, and were in a good deal of pain, which seemed the more intolerable to them, because it was the very first pain that had ever been felt since the world began.  Of course, they were entirely unaccustomed to it, and could have no idea what it meant.  Besides all this, they were in exceedingly bad humour, both with themselves and with one another.  In order to indulge it to the utmost, Epimetheus sat down sullenly in a corner with his back toward Pandora; while Pandora flung herself upon the floor and rested her head on the fatal and abominable box.  She was crying bitterly, and sobbing as if her heart would break.

Suddenly there was a gentle little tap on the inside of the lid.

“What can that be?” cried Pandora, lifting her head.

But either Epimetheus had not heard the tap, or was too much out of humour to notice it.  At any rate, he made no answer.

“You are very unkind,” said Pandora, sobbing anew, “not to speak to me!”

Again the tap!  It sounded like the tiny knuckles of a fairy’s hand, knocking lightly and playfully on the inside of the box.

“Who are you?” asked Pandora, with a little of her former curiosity.  “Who are you, inside of this naughty box?”

A sweet little voice spoke from within—­

“Only lift the lid, and you shall see.”

“No, no,” answered Pandora, again beginning to sob, “I have had enough of lifting the lid!  You are inside of the box, naughty creature, and there you shall stay!  There are plenty of your ugly brothers and sisters already flying about the world.  You need never think that I shall be so foolish as to let you out!”

She looked toward Epimetheus, as she spoke, perhaps expecting that he would commend her for her wisdom.  But the sullen boy only muttered that she was wise a little too late.