II
That night Philemon and Baucis slept upon the floor that the strangers might have their one bed. In the morning they went with the travelers to the foot of the hill to see them safely started on their way.
"Now, good people," said one of the strangers, "we thank you, and whatever you wish shall be yours."
As he said this, his face became like that of the sun. Then Philemon and Baucis knew that Zeus had spoken to them.
"Grant, O Zeus, that one of us may not outlive the other," they cried in one voice.
"Your wish is granted," said Zeus; "yes, and more. Return to your home and be happy."
Philemon and Baucis turned homeward, and, lo! their hut was changed to a beautiful castle.
The old people turned around to thank their guests, but they had disappeared.
In this castle Philemon and Baucis lived many years. They still did all they could for others, and were always so happy that they never thought of wishing anything for themselves.
As the years passed, the couple grew very old and feeble. One day Baucis said to Philemon, "I wish we might never die, but could always live together."
"Ah, that is my wish, too!" sighed old Philemon.
The next morning the marble palace was gone; Baucis and Philemon were gone; but there on the hilltop stood two beautiful trees, an oak and a linden.
No one knew what became of the good people. After many years, however, a traveler lying under the trees heard them whispering to each other.
"Baucis," whispered the oak.
"Philemon," replied the linden.
There the trees stood through sun and rain, always ready to spread their leafy shade over every tired stranger who passed that way.
—FLORA J. COOKE.
[THE POPLAR TREE]
Long ago the poplar used to hold out its branches like other trees. It tried to see how far it could spread them.
Once at sunset an old man came through the forest where the poplar trees lived. The trees were going to sleep, and it was growing dark.
The man held something under his cloak. It was a pot of gold—the very pot of gold that lies at the foot of the rainbow. He had stolen it and was looking for some place to hide it. A poplar tree stood by the path.
"This is the very place to hide my treasure," the man said. "The branches spread out straight, and the leaves are large and thick. How lucky that the trees are all asleep!"
He placed the pot of gold in the thick branches, and then ran quickly away.
The gold belonged to Iris, the beautiful maiden who had a rainbow bridge to the earth. The next morning she missed her precious pot. It always lay at the foot of the rainbow, but it was not there now.
Iris hurried away to tell her father, the great Zeus, of her loss. He said that he would find the pot of gold for her.
He called a messenger, the swift-footed Mercury, and said, "Go quickly, and do not return until you have found the treasure."
Mercury went as fast as the wind down to the earth. He soon came to the forest and awakened the trees.
"Iris has lost her precious pot of gold that lies at the foot of the rainbow. Have any of you seen it?" he asked.
The trees were very sleepy, but all shook their heads.
"We have not seen it," they said.
"Hold up your branches," said Mercury. "I must see that the pot of gold is not hidden among them."
All of the trees held up their branches. The poplar that stood by the path was the first to hold up his. He was an honest tree and knew he had nothing to hide.
Down fell the pot of gold. How surprised the poplar tree was! He dropped his branches in shame. Then he held them high in the air.
"Forgive me," he said. "I do not know how it came to be there; but, hereafter, I shall always hold my branches up. Then every one can see that I have nothing hidden."
Since then the branches have always grown straight up; and every one knows that the poplar is an honest and upright tree.
—FLORA J. COOKE.
[WHO LOVES THE TREES BEST?]
Who loves the trees best?
"I," said the Spring;
"Their leaves so beautiful
To them I bring."
Who loves the trees best?
"I," Summer said;
"I give them blossoms,
White, yellow, red."
Who loves the trees best?
"I," said the Fall;
"I give luscious fruits,
Bright tints to all."
Who loves the trees best?
"I love them best,"
Harsh Winter answered;
"I give them rest."
—ALICE MAY DOUGLAS.
[LEAVES IN AUTUMN]
Red and gold, and gold and red,
Autumn leaves burned overhead;
Hues so splendid
Softly blended,
Oh, the glory that they shed!
Red and gold, and gold and red.
Gold and brown, and brown and gold,
Of such fun the west wind told
That they listened,
And they glistened,
As they wrestled in the cold;
Gold and brown, and brown and gold.
Brown and gold, and red and brown,
How they hurried, scurried down
For a frolic,
For a rolic,
Through the country and the town,
Brown and gold, and red and brown.
[A STORY OF BIRD LIFE]
