It was said that these two people who lived in such strange form were once a poor old couple, and their home was a wretched house in the valley. Simple, honest, and quiet, they had little to do with their bustling neighbors.

One evening two strangers walked into the village, and stopping at the first house to ask for food, were sent away in a hurry.

"We work for a living and have nothing for those who don't. Go away."

They were told the same at the next house, and at the next, all down the street. Tired and hungry, they neared the cottage where Philemon and Baucis lived.

"I will try here," said the shorter of the two strangers. The other was silent.

But before they reached the door, Philemon came to meet them. And Baucis placed the best chairs for them as they entered, first spreading over the chairs pieces of cloth she had woven.

"You are hungry," she said, and she went to the fire-place and uncovered the few coals she had saved in the ashes for her morning fire. On these she put sticks and dry bark, and with all her little strength, blew hard on them, and the fire began to burn.

On a hook over the fire she hung a small iron kettle, and getting ready the beans her husband had brought in from their little garden, she put them in to stew. All this she did eagerly, as if the strangers were invited friends. While his wife set the table, Philemon brought a bowl of water for the guests to bathe their hands. As one leg of the table was too short, Baucis put a flat sh.e.l.l under to make it level with the rest. Tired and trembling, she set out a few rude dishes. They were her best. She added the pitcher of milk Philemon had bought for their own meal, and when the beans were cooked, everything was ready. For dessert, she had apples and wild honey.

Drawing a bench to the table, she laid on it a thin cushion made soft with dried seaweed, and then called the strangers. The smiles and gentle welcome of the two old people made the meal seem like a feast.

The strangers were very thirsty, but each time Baucis poured out a cup of milk the pitcher filled again.

"You are people from the skies, and not men!" the old couple cried, and fell on their knees and begged the strangers to forgive them for their poor meal.

"Why did you come to us? Others could have done so much better."

"You have done the best you could; who could do better than that?" said the tall one. "Come with us," and he led them to the top of the hill.

Then he stretched out his hand toward the village, and they saw it sink down, down out of sight, and the river came rushing in, and the place was a lake. Nothing could be seen but the house they had just left. It stood on the sh.o.r.e of the lake. Its timbers were growing higher and higher, and the yellow straw that thatched the roof changed to shining gold. It was now a beautiful temple.

"Ask of me anything you wish and I will give it to you," said the tall one.

"I know now you are Jupiter," said Philemon. "Let us take care of your temple while we live, and when it is time for us to leave it let us go together. Let not one be taken and the other left."

Philemon and Baucis cared for the beautiful temple for years. Feeling old and weary, they went to the top of the hill one day to say good-by to all things. As they stood there they saw each other change, one into this oak and the other into this linden.

"Good-by," they said together, as the bark grew up over their lips.

No tree has so strong and true a heart as the oak, and in the leafy linden hundreds of birds sing and are happy.

THE LITTLE MAIDEN WHO BECAME A LAUREL TREE

_Greek_

Cupid was a beautiful little boy. Between the wings on his shoulders he always carried a quiver full of tiny arrows. Bow in hand, he started out every morning ready, like any boy, for mischief. One day he came to drink from a fountain with some thirsty doves who were his friends.

Apollo saw the little fellow and, to tease him, asked:

"What do you carry arrows for, saucy boy? It is for great G.o.ds like myself to do that. My arrow shot the terrible python, the serpent of darkness. What can _you_ do?"

"Apollo may hit serpents, but I will hit Apollo," said Cupid, and taking out two tiny arrows, one of gold and one of lead, he touched their points together and then shot the golden one straight into Apollo.

Quick as a flash of Apollo's sun-crown, Cupid shot the other, the leaden one, into a river cloud he saw floating by. In it he knew Daphne, the daughter of the river, was hidden. The leaden arrow hit her true, but she drifted away on the swift breeze.

Apollo, the sun-G.o.d, can see through everything except fog and mist, but as Daphne fled he caught one glimpse of her face, and Cupid laughed to see how his arrow did its work. His arrows never kill; sometimes, indeed, they make life happier. Apollo now loved Daphne more than anything else on earth. Daphne was more afraid of him than of anything else in the sky.

On flew Daphne, hoping her misty cloud would hide her till she could reach her river home. On flew Apollo, begging her to stop for fear his arrows might hurt her. His great arrows of sunlight must do their work even if his friends should perish by them.

As they neared the river he saw her face again. She sank on the river bank. She was faint and he would comfort her but she cried to her father, the river, "O father, help!" The earth opened, and before Apollo could reach her he saw her waving hair change into glistening leaves. Her arms became branches. Her skin changed to dainty bark, and her face to a tree-top whose pink flowers show, even yet, the beauty of Daphne's cheek. Apollo reached out and gathered the leaves and made them into a crown.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DAPHNE. Changing into a laurel tree. From an old painting]

"This tree shall be called laurel, and it shall be mine," he said. "I cannot grow old and the leaves of this tree shall be always green.

Daphne has won the race against Apollo, the wreath of these leaves shall be her gift and mine to the bravest in every race. Kings and captains shall be proud to wear it."

Apollo hid his face for days behind dark clouds. Heavy rains fell. The immortal G.o.ds cannot weep, but these great drops seemed like tears for lost Daphne.

Even saucy Cupid mourned, and he did not dare go out till the storms were over, for fear Apollo's grief would spoil his wings.

In cold northern lands you can find Daphne's tree in greenhouses among the roses and lilies. And if you ask for Daphne, the gardener will point her out, for he calls the tree by her name.

THE LESSON OF THE LEAVES

_Roman_

In a cave by the seash.o.r.e lived an old, old woman. This very old woman was also very wise.

She remembered everything that had ever happened and she knew almost everything that was going to happen in her country.

She lived in Italy and was called the Sibyl.

One day a man named Aeneas came to her cave to question her. She was very kind to him. She even took him far down into the center of the earth, Pluto's kingdom, to see those whom Pluto had carried away.

When they came back, Aeneas said he would build a temple to her and have gifts brought to her. She had so much power and was so wise he felt sure she must be more than mortal. But she would not let Aeneas build the temple. Instead she told him her story. It was this:

"Apollo saw me when I was young, and told me to ask him for any gift I would have. We were standing on the seash.o.r.e. I stooped down and filled my hand with the white sand at our feet.

"'Give me as many birthdays as there are grains of sand in my hand, O Apollo!' I said.

"'It is granted,' said Apollo. But, in my foolishness, I forgot to ask for everlasting youth.

"When one hundred grains of sand had slipped away from the gla.s.s in which I placed them all, I was old. My youth was gone.