"No," added Philemon, making a wry face, "we could never relish them!"

"As for you, good Philemon," continued the elder traveler,--"and you, kind
Baucis,--you, with your scanty means, have mingled so much heartfelt
hospitality with your entertainment of the homeless stranger, that the
milk became an inexhaustible fount of nectar, and the brown loaf and the
honey were ambrosia. Thus, the divinities have feasted, at your board, off
the same viands that supply their banquets on Olympus. You have done well,
my dear old friends. Wherefore, request whatever favor you have most at
heart, and it is granted."

Philemon and Baucis looked at one another, and then--I know not which of
the two it was who spoke, but that one uttered the desire of both their
hearts.

"Let us live together, while we live, and leave the world at the same
instant, when we die! For we have always loved one another!"

"Be it so!" replied the stranger, with majestic kindness. "Now, look
towards your cottage!"

They did so. But what was their surprise on beholding a tall edifice of
white marble, with a wide-open portal, occupying the spot where their
humble residence had so lately stood!

"There is your home," said the stranger, beneficently smiling on them
both. "Exercise your hospitality in yonder palace as freely as in the poor
hovel to which you welcomed us last evening."

The old folks fell on their knees to thank him; but, behold! neither he