cis, "say what you will, these are very uncommon
people."

"Well, well," replied Philemon, still smiling, "perhaps they are. They
certainly do look as if they had seen better days; and I am heartily glad
to see them making so comfortable a supper."

Each of the guests had now taken his bunch of grapes upon his plate.
Baucis (who rubbed her eyes, in order to see the more clearly) was of
opinion that the clusters had grown larger and richer, and that each
separate grape seemed to be on the point of bursting with ripe juice. It
was entirely a mystery to her how such grapes could ever have been
produced from the old stunted vine that climbed against the cottage wall.

"Very admirable grapes these!" observed Quicksilver, as he swallowed one
after another, without apparently diminishing his cluster. "Pray, my good
host, whence did you gather them?"

"From my own vine," answered Philemon. "You may see one of its branches
twisting across the window, yonder. But wife and I never thought the
grapes very fine ones."

"I never tasted better," said the guest. "Another cup of this delicious
milk, if you please, and I shall then have supped better than a prince."

This time, old Philemon bestirred himself, and took up the pitcher; for he
was curious to discover whether there was any reality in the marvels which
Baucis had whispered to him. He knew that his good old wife was incapable
of falsehood, and that she was seldom mistaken in what she supposed to be
true; but this was so very singular a case, that he wanted to see into it
with his own eyes. On taking up the pitcher, therefore, he slyly peeped
into it, and was fully satisfied that it contained not so much as a single
drop. All at once, however, he beheld 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
traveler, 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