As this worthy couple sat dozing by the fireside
one evening in the late autumn, two strangers
came and begged a shelter for the night. They
had to stoop to enter the humble doorway, where
the old man welcomed them heartily and bade
them rest their weary limbs on the settle before
the fire.
Meanwhile Baucis stirred the embers, blowing
them into a flame with dry leaves, and heaped on
the fagots to boil the stew-pot. Hanging from the
blackened beams was a rusty side of bacon. Philemon
cut off a rasher to roast, and, while his
guests refreshed themselves with a wash at the
rustic trough, he gathered pot-herbs from his
patch of garden. Then the old woman, her hands
trembling with age, laid the cloth and spread the
table.
It was a frugal meal, but one that hungry
wayfarers could well relish. The first course was an
omelette of curdled milk and eggs, garnished with
radishes and served on rude oaken platters. The
cups of turned beechwood were filled with homemade
wine from an earthen jug. The second
course consisted of dried figs and dates, plums,
sweet-smelling apples, and grapes, with a piece
of clear, white honeycomb. What made the meal
more grateful to the guests was the hearty spirit
in which it was offered. Their hosts gave all they
had without stint or grudging.
But all at once something happened which
startled and amazed Baucis and Philemon.
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