THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER
because his under garments were shabby. Philemon perceived, too, that he had on a singular pair of shoes; but, as it was now growing dusk, and as the old man’s eyesight was none the sharpest, he could not precisely tell in what the strangeness consisted. One thing certainly seemed queer. The traveller was so wonderfully light and active, that it appeared as if his feet sometimes rose from the ground of their own accord, or could only be kept down by an effort.
‘I used to be light-footed, in my youth,’ said Philemon to the traveller. ‘But I always found my feet grow heavier towards nightfall.’
‘There is nothing like a good staff to help one along,’ answered the stranger; ‘and I happen to have an excellent one, as you see.’
This staff, in fact, was the oddest-looking staff that Philemon had ever beheld. It was made of olive-wood, and had something like a little pair of wings near the top. Two snakes, carved in the wood, were represented as twining themselves about the staff, and were so very skilfully executed that old Philemon (whose eyes, you know, were getting rather dim) almost thought them alive, and that he could see them wriggling and twisting.
‘A curious piece of work, sure enough!’ said he. ‘A staff with wings! It would be an excellent kind of stick for a little boy to ride astride of!’
By this time, Philemon and his two guests had reached the cottage door.
‘Friends,’ said the old man, ‘sit down and rest yourselves here on this bench. My good wife Baucis has gone to see what you can have for supper. We are poor folks;
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