branches and drove them backwards into a large cave where he made a fire and sacrificed two of them to the twelve Gods (himself included).
The next day while Apollo was driving his sun-chariot over the slopes in the east, he noticed that a number of his favorite cows were missing. Investigating the matter, he traced the theft to this baby, who stood up in his cradle, looked the Sun-god in the face, and stoutly denied it; he even inquired in a naïve manner what sort of animals cows were. Too amazed for further words, Apollo picked him up, tucked him under his arm, and went straightway up Mount Olympus to Jupiter. Here the infant stood bravely in the midst of the assembly in the great Olympian Hall and with a look of injured innocence upon his face inquired, "How could I, still wrapped in swaddling clothes, drive away Apollo's herd? You well know that I was only born yesterday and have never crossed my mother's threshold." The gods, perfectly aware of his guilt, roared with laughter and loudly applauded. Even Jupiter smiled at the infant's cleverness and, presenting him with a winged silver cap and silver wings for his feet, told him to lead Apollo to the cave where he had driven the cattle. Seeing that further subterfuge was useless, Mercury laughed gleefully and handed Apollo his harp as a peace offering.
Apollo soon played divinely on the little harp and was altogether so pleased with the instrument that he gave Mercury entire charge of his flocks and herds, as he preferred to become famous as the God of Music. The Sun-god later gave the harp to Orpheus, and because a god had played upon it, it responded to the touch of this beautiful youth in tones so pure and joyous that even wild beasts were charmed, while birds swarmed about him in the air and sea-monsters came up to hear him from the bottom of the sea. The power of his music was so great that rushing torrents slacked their rapid course to listen to him, and once,
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