should be rippling over the cottages again," and he looked very sad and stern.
He was a very important-looking man, Philemon felt, even though his clothes were old and shabby; maybe he was some great learned stranger who did not care at all for money or clothes, and was wandering about the world seeking wisdom and knowledge. Philemon was quite sure he was not a common person. But he talked so kindly to Philemon, and the younger traveler made such funny remarks, that they were all constantly laughing.
"Pray, my young friend, what is your name?" Philemon asked.
"Well," answered the younger man, "I am called Mercury, because I am so quick."
"What a strange name!" said Philemon; "and your friend, what is he called?"
"You must ask the thunder to tell you that," said Mercury, "no other voice is loud enough."
Philemon was a little confused at this answer, but the stranger looked so kind and friendly that he began to tell them about his good old wife, and what fine butter and cheese she made, and ho