A Book of Myths, by Jean Lang - Umnet

still lingered in some parts of the granary, it seemed to Psyche as
though little dark trickles of water began to pour from underneath the
doors and through the cracks in the wall. Trembling she watched the
ceaseless motion of those long, dark lines, and then, in amazement,
realised that what she saw were unending processions of ants. And as
though one who loved her directed their labours, the millions of busy
little toilers swiftly did for Psyche what she herself had failed to do.
When at length they went away, in those long dark lines that looked
like the flow of a thread-like stream, the grains were all piled up in high
heaps, and the sad heart of Psyche knew not only thankful relief, but
had a thrill of gladness.
"Eros sent them to me:" she thought. "Even yet his love for me is not
dead."
And what she thought was true.
Amazed and angry, Aphrodite looked at the task she had deemed
impossible, well and swiftly performed. That Psyche should possess
such magic skill only incensed her more, and next day she said to her
new slave:
"Behold, on the other side of that glittering stream, my golden-fleeced
sheep crop the sweet flowers of the meadow. To-day must thou cross
the river and bring me back by evening a sample of wool pulled from
each one of their shining fleeces."
Then did Psyche go down to the brink of the river, and even as her
white feet splashed into the water, she heard a whisper of warning from
the reeds that bowed their heads by the stream.
"Beware! O Psyche," they said. "Stay on the shore and rest until the
golden-fleeced sheep lie under the shade of the trees in the evening and
the murmur of the river has lulled them to sleep."
But Psyche said, "Alas, I must do the bidding of the goddess. It will
take me many a weary hour to pluck the wool that she requires."