rangers?" he cried.

"Your guests, good Philemon, and your friends," answered the elder
traveler, "and may the pitcher never be empty for kind Baucis and
yourself any more than for the hungry traveler."

The old people did not like to ask any more questions; they gave the
guests their own sleeping-room, and then they lay down on the hard
floor in the kitchen. It was long before they fell asleep, not because
they thought how hard their bed was, but because there was so much to
whisper to each other about the wonderful strangers and what they had
done.

They all rose with the sun next morning. Philemon begged the visitors
to stay a little till Baucis should milk the cow and bake some bread
for breakfast. But the travelers seemed to be in a hurry and wished
to start at once, and they asked Baucis and Philemon to go with them a
short distance to show them the way.

So they all four set out together, and Mercury was so full of fun and
laughter, and made them feel so happy and bright, that they would have
been glad to keep him in their cottage every day and all day long.

"Ah me," said Philemon, "if only our neighbors knew what a pleasure
it was to be kind to strangers, they would tie up all their dogs and
never allow the children to fling another stone."

"It is a sin and shame for them to behave so," said Baucis, "and I
mean to go this very day and tell some of them how wicked they are."

"I fear," said Mercury, smiling, "that you will not find any of them
at home."

The old people looked at the elder traveler and his face had grown
very grave and stern. "When men do not feel towards the poorest
stranger as if he were a brother," he said, in a deep, grave voice,
"they are not worthy to remain on the earth, which was made just to be
the home for the whole family of the human race of men and women and
children."

"And, by the bye," said Mercury, with a look of fun and mischief in
his eyes, "where is this village you talk about? I do not see anything
of it."

Philemon and his wife turned towards the valley, where at sunset only
the day before they had seen the trees and gardens, and the houses,
and the streets with the children playing in them. But there was no
longer any sign of the village. There was not even a valley. Instead,
they saw a broad lake which filled all the great basin from brim to
brim, and whose waters glistened and sparkled in the morning sun.

The village that had been there only yesterday was