THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER
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 traveller, 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 emptied 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 of repose. The old people would gladly have talked with them a little longer, and have expressed the wonder which they felt, and their delight at finding the poor and meagre supper prove so much better and more abundant than they hoped. But the elder traveller had inspired them with such reverence, that they dared not ask him any questions. And when Philemon drew Quicksilver aside and inquired how under the sun a fountain of milk could have got into an old earthen pitcher, this latter personage pointed to his staff.
‘There is the whole mystery of the affair,’ quoth Quicksilver; ‘and if you can make it out, I’ll thank you to let me know. I can’t tell what to make of my staff. It is always playing such odd tricks as this; sometimes getting me a supper, and, quite as often, stealing it away. If I had any faith in such nonsense, I should say the stick was bewitched!’
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