llow whom he had seen for many a day.

"Pray, my young friend," said he, as they grew familiar together, "what
may I call your name?"

"Why, I am very nimble, as you see," answered the traveler. "So, if you
call me Quicksilver, the name will fit tolerably well."

"Quicksilver? Quicksilver!" repeated Philemon, looking in the traveler's
face, to see if he were making fun of him. "It is a very odd name! And
your companion there? Has he as strange a one?"

"You must ask the thunder to tell you it!" replied Quicksilver, putting
on a mysterious look. "No other voice is loud enough."

This remark, whether it were serious or in jest, might have caused
Philemon to conceive a very great awe of the elder stranger, if, on
venturing to gaze at him, he had not beheld so much beneficence in his
visage. But, undoubtedly, here was the grandest figure that ever sat so
humbly beside a cottage door. When the stranger conversed, it was with
gravity, and in such a way that Philemon felt irresistibly moved to tell
him everything which he had most at heart. This is always the feeling
that people have, when they meet with any one wise enough to comprehend
all their good and evil, and to despise not a tittle of it.

But Philemon, simple and kind-hearted old man that he was, had not many
secrets to disclose. He talked, however, quite garrulously, about the
events of his past life, in the whole course of which he had never been
a score of miles from this very spot. His wife Baucis and himself had
dwelt in the cottage from their youth upward, earning their bread by
honest labor, always poor, but still contented. He told what excellent
butter and cheese Baucis made and how nice were the vegetables which he
raised in his garden. He said, too, that, because they loved one another
so very much, it was the wish of both that death might not separate
them, but that they should die, as they had lived, together.

As the stranger listened, a smile beamed over his countenance, and made
its expression as sweet as it was grand.

"You are a good old man," said he to Philemon, "and you have a good old
wife to be your helpmeet. It is fit that your wish be granted."

And it seemed to Philemon, just then, as if the sunset clouds threw up a
bright flash from the west, and kindled a sudden light in the sky.

Baucis had now got supper ready, and coming to the door, began to make
apologies for the poor fare which she was forced to set before her
guests.

"Ha