held
a little white fountain, which gushed up from the bottom of the pitcher,
and speedily filled it to the brim with foaming and deliciously fragrant
milk. It was lucky that Philemon, in his surprise, did not drop the
miraculous pitcher from his hand.

"Who are ye, wonder-working strangers!" cried he, even more bewildered
than his wife had been.

"Your guests, my good Philemon, and your friends," replied the elder
traveller, in his mild, deep voice, that had something at once sweet and
awe-inspiring in it. "Give me likewise a cup of the milk; and may your
pitcher never be empty for kind Baucis and yourself, any more than for
the needy wayfarer!"

The supper being now over, the strangers requested to be shown to their
place of repose. The old people would gladly have talked with them a
little longer, and have expressed the wonder which they felt, and their
delight at finding the poor and meagre supper prove so much better and
more abundant than they hoped. But the elder traveller had inspired them
with such reverence, that they dared not ask him any questions. And
when Philemon drew Quicksilver aside, and inquired how under the sun a
fountain of milk could have got into an old earthen pitcher, this latter
personage pointed to his staff.

"There is the whole mystery of the affair," quoth Quicksilver; "and if
you can make it out, I'll thank you to let me know. I can't tell what to
make of my staff. It is always playing such odd tricks as this;
sometimes getting me a supper, and, quite as often, stealing it away. If
I had any faith in such nonsense, I should say the stick was bewitched!"

He said no more, but looked so slyly in their faces, that they rather
fancied he was laughing at them. The magic staff went hopping at his
heels, as Quicksilver quitted the room. When left alone, the good old
couple spent some little time in conversation about the events of the
evening, and then lay down on the floor, and fell fast asleep. They had
given up their sleeping room to the guests, and had no other bed for
themselves, save these planks, which I wish had been as soft as their
own hearts.

The old man and his wife were stirring, betimes, in the morning, and the
strangers likewise arose with the sun, and made their preparations to
depart. Philemon hospitably entreated them to remain a little longer,
until Baucis could milk the cow, and bake a cake upon the hearth, and,
perhaps, find them a few fresh eggs for breakfast. The g