The guests restrained the ardor of the old people and said with a laugh: “We are gods who have come to earth to test the generosity of men. We found your neighbors wicked and they shall be punished. But you shall leave this house and follow us to the summit of the mountain, so that you shall not suffer with the guilty ones.” Both obeyed, and leaning upon their staffs they wearisomely climbed the mountain. They were not an arrow’s flight from the highest peak when they anxiously looked down and saw the whole place changed into a raging waste of waters, and of all the houses only their own little one remained. While they stood astonished and bewailed the fate of the others, behold the poor old hut towered above the waters as a temple. A golden roof was supported on its columns and its floors were of marble. Zeus turned to the trembling old people and said: “Tell me, honest old man and worthy wife of the honest old man, what do you most wish?” Philemon exchanged a few words with his wife and then said: “We would be your priests. Permit us to serve in that temple. And as we have so long lived together, let us die at the same hour. Then I shall never see the grave of my dear wife nor will she have to bury me.” Their wish was granted. As long as they lived they served in the temple. And once, when weary with the weight of age and years, they were standing on the sacred steps, thinking of their wonderful fate, Baucis saw her Philemon and Philemon his Baucis disappearing and floating away to the distant height. “Farewell, dear one. Farewell, beloved one,” said each as long as they could speak. Thus ended the worthy pair. He was turned into an oak and she into a linden, and thus they remained as close together in death as they had been in life. Goodness is prized by the gods. They bestow honors upon those who prove themselves worthy. Chapter XVII Arachne In Hypaipa, a little city of Lydia, dwelt a maiden of lowly birth named Arachne. Idmon, her father, was a dyer at Colophon and her mother, who died early, was born of poor parents. The name of Arachne was famous in Lydia, for she surpassed all human women in skill and industry in weaving. The nymphs of the vine-clad mountain of Tmolus and of the river Pactolus came to her poor cottage to watch her work. Never were skill and grace more closely united. Whether she was first preparing the coarse wool, or drawing the threads finer and finer, or revolving the spindle with nimble thumbs, or stitching with the needle, it always seemed as if Pallas Athene herself must have instructed her. Arachne knew nothing about it, but she often declared in an offended tone: “I did not get my skill from the goddess. Let her come and try her skill with me. If she defeats me I will bear any penalty.”