And then what a delicious fragrance the milk had!  It seemed as if Philemon’s only cow must have pastured, that day, on the richest herbage that could be found anywhere in the world.  I only wish that each of you, my beloved little souls, could have a bowl of such nice milk, at supper time!

“And now a slice of your brown loaf, Mother Baucis,” said Quicksilver, “and a little of that honey!”

Baucis cut him a slice, accordingly; and though the loaf, when she and her husband ate of it, had been rather too dry and crusty to be palatable, it was now as light and moist as if but a few hours out of the oven.  Tasting a crumb, which had fallen on the table, she found it more delicious than bread ever was before, and could hardly believe that it was a loaf of her own kneading and baking.  Yet, what other loaf could it possibly be?

But, oh the honey!  I may just as well let it alone, without trying to describe how exquisitely it smelt and looked.  Its colour was that of the purest and most transparent gold; and it had the odour of a thousand flowers; but of such flowers as never grew in an earthly garden, and to seek which the bees must have flown high above the clouds.  The wonder is, that, after alighting on a flower bed of so delicious fragrance and immortal bloom, they should have been content to fly down again to their hive in Philemon’s garden.  Never was such honey tasted, seen, or smelt.  The perfume floated around the kitchen, and made it so delightful, that, had you closed your eyes, you would instantly have forgotten the low ceiling and smoky walls, and have fancied yourself in an arbour, with celestial honeysuckles creeping over it.

Although good Mother Baucis was a simple old dame, she could not but think that there was something rather out of the common way, in all that had been going on.  So, after helping the guests to bread and honey, and laying a bunch of grapes by each of their plates, she sat down by Philemon, and told him what she had seen, in a whisper.

“Did you ever hear the like?” asked she.

“No, I never did,” answered Philemon, with a smile.  “And I rather think, my dear old wife, you have been walking about in a sort of a dream.  If I had poured out the milk, I should have seen through the business at once.  There happened to be a little more in the pitcher than you thought—­that is all.”

“Ah, husband,” said Baucis, “say what you will, these are very uncommon people.”

“Well, well,” replied Philemon, still smiling, “perhaps they are.  They certainly do look as if they had seen better days; and I am heartily glad to see them making so comfortable a supper.”

Each of the guests had now taken his bunch of grapes upon his plate.  Baucis (who rubbed her eyes, in order to see the more clearly) was of opinion that the clusters had grown larger and richer, and that each separate grape seemed to be on the point of bursting with ripe juice.  It was entirely a mystery to her how such grapes could ever have been produced from the old stunted vine that climbed against the cottage wall.