The Child's World: Third Reader. Sarah Withers
ago, on a high hill in Greece, Philemon and Baucis lived.
They were poor, but they were never unhappy. They had many hives of bees from which they got honey, and many vines from which they gathered grapes. One old cow gave them all the milk that they could use, and they had a little field in which grain was raised.
The old couple had as much as they needed, and were always ready to share whatever they had with any one in want. No stranger was ever turned from their door.
At the foot of the hill lay a beautiful village, with pleasant roads and rich pasture lands all around. But it was full of wicked, selfish, people, who had no love in their hearts and thought only of themselves.
At the time of this story, the people in the village were very busy. Zeus, who they believed ruled the world, had sent word that he was about to visit them. They were preparing a great feast and making everything beautiful for his coming.
One evening, just at dark, two beggars came into the valley. They stopped at every house and asked for food and a place to sleep; but the people were too busy or too tired to attend to their needs. They were thinking only of the coming of Zeus.
Footsore and weary, the two beggars at last climbed the hill to the hut of Philemon and Baucis. These good people had eaten very little, for they were saving their best food for Zeus.
When they saw the beggars, Philemon said, "Surely these men need food more than Zeus. They look almost starved."
"Indeed, they do!" said Baucis, and she ran quickly to prepare supper for the strangers.
She spread her best white cloth upon the table, and brought out bacon, herbs, honey, grapes, bread, and milk. She set these upon the table in all the best dishes she had and called the strangers in.
Then what do you suppose happened? The dishes that the strangers touched turned to gold. The pitcher was never empty, although they drank glass after glass of milk. The loaf of bread stayed always the same size, although the strangers cut slice after slice.
"These are strange travelers," whispered the old couple to each other. "They do wonderful things."
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,