him yelp, even thus far off."

Philemon was glad to see him in such good spirits; nor, indeed, would
you have fancied, by the traveler's look and manner, that he was weary
with a long day's journey, besides being disheartened by rough
treatment at the end of it. He was dressed in rather an odd way, with
a sort of cap on his head, the brim of which stuck out over both ears.
Though it was a summer evening, he wore a cloak, which he kept wrapt
closely about him, perhaps because his under garments were shabby.
Philemon perceived, too, that he had on a singular pair of shoes; but,
as it was now growing dusk, and as the old man's eyesight was none the
sharpest, he could not precisely tell in what the strangeness
consisted. One thing, certainly, seemed queer. The traveler was so
wonderfully light and active, that it appeared as if his feet
sometimes rose from the ground of their own accord, or could only be
kept down by an effort.

"I used to be light-footed, in my youth," said Philemon to the
traveler. "But I always found my feet grow heavier towards nightfall."

"There is nothing like a good staff to help one along," answered the
stranger; "and I happen to have an excellent one, as you see."

This staff, in fact, was the oddest-looking staff that Philemon had
ever beheld. It was made of olive-wood, and had something like a
little pair of wings near the top. Two snakes, carved in the wood,
were represented as twining themselves about the staff, and were so
very skillfully executed that old Philemon (whose eyes, you know, were
getting rather dim) almost thought them alive, and that he could see
them wriggling and twisting.

"A curious piece of work, sure enough!" said he. "A staff with wings!
It would be an excellent kind of stick for a little boy to ride
astride of!"

By this time, Philemon and his two guests had reached the cottage
door.

"Friends," said the old man, "sit down and rest yourselves here on
this bench. My good wife Baucis has gone to see what you can have for
supper. We are poor folks; but you shall be welcome to whatever we
have in the cupboard."

The younger stranger threw himself carelessly on the bench, letting
his staff fall, as he did so. And here happened something rather
marvelous, though trifling enough, too. The staff seemed to get up
from the ground of its own accord, and, spreading its little pair of
wings, it half hopped, half flew, and leaned itself against the wall
of the cottage. The