He rose ready for the day, knowing the signs had answered him. The other maids lit the fire. Telemachus rose, put on his clothes, slung his sharp sword about him, and took his spear. He went to the threshold and asked Euryclea whether the stranger had been properly cared for, or left neglected. Do not find fault, child, she said, when there is none to blame. The stranger sat and drank wine as he would, and said he wanted no more food; and when it was time for sleep she told the women. Melantho and her set had mocked him, but the careful women had done their duty.
Telemachus went out to the place where the Achaeans met in assembly, spear in hand, and two sharp-toothed dogs followed him. Meanwhile Euryclea called the maids: Come, some of you sweep the hall and sprinkle it, and put covers on the well-made seats; others wipe the tables with sponges; others go to the spring for water. The suitors will not be long from the hall; it is a feast day for all. Twenty went for water; the rest set to work indoors. Then the serving men of the proud suitors came and split logs.
The women returned from the spring. The swineherd Eumaeus came with three fat hogs, the best of his herd. He spoke kindly to Odysseus: Stranger, do the suitors look on you with more respect, or do they slight you as before? May heaven, Odysseus answered, repay them the wickedness with which they deal high-handedly in another man's house. They have no shame, and they will learn it soon enough.
Melanthius the goatherd came next, driving the best goats for the suitors' dinner, with two herdsmen. He spoke roughly to Odysseus again — mocking his rags and wishing him driven from the hall — and stirred his anger, but Odysseus made no answer; he only bowed his head and brooded. Then Philoetius the cowherd joined them, bringing a heifer and fat goats from the mainland ferry. He asked Eumaeus who the stranger was, then went up and took Odysseus's hand. Eumaeus muttered that the goatherd's tongue would one day cost him dear.
Good day to you, father stranger, he said. May happiness be yours hereafter — though now you are held in many sorrows. When I look at you, sweat breaks out on me, and my eyes fill, remembering Odysseus. I think he too wears such rags, if he still lives and sees the sunlight. If he is already dead, then I mourn for the good master who set me over his cattle when I was young. Now they are past counting, and the suitors make me bring them for their own feasts, while the master's son takes no heed — as is natural, when a man fears for his life. I have often thought to take the cattle and go elsewhere, yet I stay, hoping still for the master's return. He wiped his eyes and sat down near the stranger, ashamed of his own tears yet unable to stop them.
Stockman, Odysseus answered, you seem well disposed, and a man of sense. Therefore I will swear a great oath by Zeus and by this hospitable table: Odysseus shall come home while you are still here. You shall see with your own eyes the killing of the suitors who lord it here. If Zeus would bring that to pass, Philoetius said, you would see how hard I would fight. And in like manner Eumaeus prayed that Odysseus might return home.