APHNE was the daughter of the River Peneus.

She was a beautiful child and her father loved her more than anything else in the world.

Her home was in a cave which he had cut for her in a great white cliff.

The walls of the cave were of marble.

From the roof hung crystal chandeliers which Peneus’ servants had made.

On the floor was a soft green carpet woven by the water fairies.

Peneus brought his most beautiful pebbles to Daphne’s cave every night.

He sang songs to her in the evenings and told her stories of his travels.

She visited with him the great island which he was building in the sea.

When the morning star shone in the sky it was Daphne who awakened the birds and flowers.

With her golden hair flying behind her, she sped into the forest. Everything awoke when they felt the touch of her rosy fingers, and smiled as they saw her happy face. The trees and the forest animals were her playfellows, and she had no wish for other friends.

She learned their ways, and the deer could not run more swiftly than she, nor the birds sing more sweetly.

One day as she was running over the stones near the cave, King Apollo saw her.

“Ah, little maid,” said he, “You are very beautiful. Your feet are too tender for the hard rocky earth.

“Come, you shall live with me in my palace in the sky.”

But Daphne fled from him.

She did not want to leave her beautiful earth home.

Fear gave her wings, and faster and faster she flew.

Her hair streamed behind her like a cloud of golden light.

Apollo followed more swiftly than the wind.

“Stop and listen,” he cried; “I am not a foe, foolish girl. It is Apollo who follows you. I shall carry you to a home more beautiful than anything you have ever seen.”

She felt his breath upon her hair, and saw his hand as he stretched it forth to seize her.

“Father, save me from Apollo,” she cried. “Let the earth enclose me.”

Peneus heard her voice and instantly her feet became fastened in the soil like roots. A soft bark covered her body and her beautiful hair became the leaves of the laurel tree.

Apollo sadly gathered some of the leaves and wove them into a wreath. He laid his hand upon the tree and said, “I would have made you happy, but you would not listen to me.

“At least you shall be my tree. Your leaves shall be ever green, and heroes shall be crowned with them in sign of victory.”