THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER. 167

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 ki: d-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 up-
ward, 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, be-
cause 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 sun-
set 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.