“Was there not,” asked the stranger, in a deep tone of voice, “a lake, in very ancient times, covering the spot where now stands yonder village?”
“Not in my time, friend,” answered Philemon; “and yet I am an old man, as you see. There were always the fields and meadows, just as they are now, and the trees, and the stream murmuring through the midst of the valley.”
The stranger shook his head. “Since the inhabitants of yonder village have forgotten the affections and sympathies of their nature, it were better that the lake should be rippling over their dwellings again!” He looked so stern that Philemon was almost frightened; the more so, that when he shook his head, there was a roll as of thunder in the air.
While Baucis was getting the supper, the travellers both began to talk with Philemon.
“Pray, my friend,” asked the old man of the younger stranger, “what may I call your name?”
“Why, I am very nimble, as you see,” answered the traveller. “So, if you call me Quicksilver, the name will fit me well.”
“Quicksilver? Quicksilver?” repeated Philemon. “It is a very odd name! And your companion there! Has he as strange a one?”
“You must ask the thunder to tell it you,” replied Quicksilver. “No other voice is loud enough.”
Baucis had now got supper ready and, coming to the door, began to make apologies for the poor fare which she was forced to set before her guests.
“All will be very well; do not trouble yourself, my good dame,” replied the elder stranger, kindly. “An honest, hearty welcome to a guest turns the coarsest food to nectar and ambrosia.”