THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER
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.
‘Had we known you were coming,’ said she, ‘my good man and myself would have gone without a morsel, rather than you should lack a better supper. But I took the most part of to-day’s milk to make cheese; and our last loaf is already half eaten. Ah me! I never feel the sorrow of being poor, save when a poor traveller knocks at our door.’
‘All will be very well; do not trouble yourself, my good dame,’ replied the elder stranger kindly. ‘An honest, hearty welcome to a guest works miracles with the fare, and is capable of turning the coarsest food to nectar and ambrosia.’
‘A welcome you shall have,’ cried Baucis, ‘and likewise a little honey that we happen to have left, and a bunch of purple grapes besides.’
‘Why, Mother Baucis, it is a feast!’ exclaimed Quicksilver, laughing, ‘an absolute feast! and you shall see how bravely I will play my part at it! I think I never felt hungrier in my life.’
‘Mercy on us!’ whispered Baucis to her husband.
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