THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 165

deep tone of voice, “a lake, in very ancient times, cover-
ing the spot where now stands yonder village ? ”

“Not in my day, friend,” answered Philemon; “ and
yet 1 am an old man, as you see. There were always
the fields and meadows, just as they are now, and the old
trees, and the little stream murmuring through the midst
of the valley. My father, nor his father before him, ever
saw it otherwise, so far as I know ; and doubtless it will
still be the same, when old Philemon shall be gone and
forgotten !”

“That is more than can be safely foretold,” observed
the stranger; and there was something very stern in his
deep voice. He shook his head, too, so that his dark
and heavy curls were shaken with the movement. “Since
the inhabitants of yonder village have forgotten the affec-
tions and sympathies of their nature, it were better that
the lake should be rippling over their dwellings again!”

The traveller looked so stern, that Philemon was really
almost frightened; the more so, that, at his frown, the
twilight seemed suddenly to grow darker, and that, when
he shook his head, there was a roll as of thunder in the
alr.

But, in a moment afterwards, the stranger’s face be-
came so kindly and mild, that the old man quite forgot
his terror. Nevertheless, he could not help feeling that
this elder traveller must be no ordinary personage, al-
though he happened now to be attired so humbly, and to
be journeying on foot. Not that Philemon fancied him
a prince in disguise, or any character of that sort; but
rather some exceedingly wise man, who went about the