There were still many wise and good men in the country, and these were much grieved at the sad state of affairs. “It would be better,” said they, “if we had a king as other people have. He would punish the doers of wrong, and would make laws for the good of all.” But they could not choose a king among themselves. Each man claimed that he himself was the best fitted to be the ruler of the rest; and, had it not been for one of the wisest among them, they would have ended by fighting one another.
“Since we do not know what to do,” said this wise man, “let us ask the gods. Let us send to the oracle of Apollo and make our troubles known. Perhaps it will tell us what to do.”
All were pleased with this plan, and a messenger was sent to consult the oracle.
The temple of Apollo was far across the sea and many weeks passed before the messenger returned. Then all the best people from the mountains, the plains, and the hills met together near the chief town to hear what the oracle had told him.
“The oracle did not tell me very much,” said the messenger. “It merely repeated these two lines of poetry:
In lowly wagon riding, see the king
Who’ll peace to your unhappy country bring.
I could not get another word from it.”
The people were much puzzled by this answer of the oracle. They could not understand it, and yet they felt sure that it meant something. While all were standing around