to be so tall and venerable in
a single night, a breeze sprang up, and set their intermingled boughs
astir. And then there was a deep, broad murmur in the air, as if the two
mysterious trees were speaking.

"I am old Philemon!" murmured the oak.

"I am old Baucis!" murmured the linden-tree.

But, as the breeze grew stronger, the trees both spoke at
once,--"Philemon! Baucis! Baucis! Philemon!"--as if one were both and both
were one, and talking together in the depths of their mutual heart. It was
plain enough to perceive that the good old couple had renewed their age,
and were now to spend a quiet and delightful hundred years or so, Philemon
as an oak, and Baucis as a linden-tree. And oh, what a hospitable shade
did they fling around them! Whenever a wayfarer paused beneath it, he
heard a pleasant whisper of the leaves above his head, and wondered how
the sound should so much resemble words like these:--

"Welcome, welcome, dear traveler, welcome!"

And some kind soul, that knew what would have pleased old Baucis and old
Philemon best, built a circular seat around both their trunks, where, for
a great while afterwards, the weary, and the hungry, and the thirsty used
to repose themselves, and quaff milk abundantly from the miraculous
pitcher.

And I wish, for all our sakes, that we had the pitcher here now!

THE GOLDEN TOUCH

By Nathaniel Hawthorne

Once upon a time, there lived a very rich man, and a king besides, whose
name was Midas; and he had a little daughter, whom nobody but myself ever
heard of, and whose name I either never knew or have entirely forgotten.
So, because I love odd names for little girls, I choose to call her
Marygold.

This King Midas was fonder of gold than of anything else in the world. He
valued his royal crown chiefly because it was composed of that precious
metal. If he loved anything better, or half so well, it was the one little
maiden who played so merrily around her father's footstool. But the more
Midas loved his daughter, the more did he desire and seek for wealth. He
thought, foolish man! that the best thing he could possibly do for this
dear child would be to bequeath her the immensest pile of yellow,
glistening coin, that had ever been heaped together since the world was
made. Thus, he gave all his thoughts and all his time to this one purpose.
If ever he happened to gaze for an instant at the gold-tinted clouds of
sunset, he wished that they were real gold, and th