In one of the winding dells of the Arcadian uplands a little white-walled city slept sunnily on a knoll beside the riverbed, where the thread of the summer stream curled slowly among the rushes. The sun stood blazing in the south, and the people of the city lay resting peacefully in patches of shade under the temple roofs or under the colonnades by the fountain. The market-place was silent; a few shopkeepers dozed under their booths, where their merchandise was sheltered from the heat of the summer noon. The narrow streets, winding among the blank white walls of the houses, were deserted. On a small hill above the market-place stood the temple of Zeus, with its gables fronting east and west. In the shade of the eastern gable two boys were standing and straining their eyes into the glare of the sun to watch the white track which climbed the hills before them. Both of them at once saw a little cloud of dust rise on the crest of the hill, and the form of a man running. ‘The runner!’ they shouted, and their shout woke the cool shadows along the northern colonnade of the temple. One after another, men came out and joined them, and the elder boy darted down the temple steps, across the market-place, and down one of the narrow streets crying all the while ‘The runner! The runner!’ The town woke from its sleep; shopkeepers, porters, nobles, men, women, and children gathered on the temple steps before the runner had reached the bottom of the valley; and as he climbed the short ascent, and ran through the open city gate, an eager crowd awaited his arrival. He reached the open space in front of the temple. His face and hair were covered with dust and sweat, as were his sinewy legs and arms. He stood gasping for a moment to get breath for his announcement to the silent eager crowd. Then in a hoarse but exultant voice he cried, ‘Stymphalians, Hagesias won the mule-car race yesterday morning!’