wo grand trees stood on a hill near a lake. One was an oak with wide
branches. The other was a linden.

"Man and wife," the people called them, and when asked why, said,
"Because it is true. Once they could walk around and talk. Now they
stand there side by side forever. But you can hear them whisper to each
other sometimes."

And if asked, "Who were they?" even the little children would say, "Why,
Philemon and Baucis."

Many children had these names in those days, and knew the story of the
two trees well, for there were none like them anywhere else in the land.

It was said that these two people who lived in such strange form were
once a poor old couple, and their home was a wretched house in the
valley. Simple, honest, and quiet, they had little to do with their
bustling neighbors.

One evening two strangers walked into the village, and stopping at the
first house to ask for food, were sent away in a hurry.

"We work for a living and have nothing for those who don't. Go away."

They were told the same at the next house, and at the next, all down the
street. Tired and hungry, they neared the cottage where Philemon and
Baucis lived.

"I will try here," said the shorter of the two strangers. The other
was silent.

But before they reached the door, Philemon came to meet them. And Baucis
placed the best chairs for them as they entered, first spreading over
the chairs pieces of cloth she had woven.

"You are hungry," she said, and she went to the fire-place and uncovered
the few coals she had saved in the ashes for her morning fire. On these
she put sticks and dry bark, and with all her little strength, blew hard
on them, and the fire began to burn.