than try to pass through the village again.

What made the matter seem worse, if possible, was that when rich persons
came in their chariots, or riding on beautiful horses, with their
servants in rich liveries attending on them, nobody could be more civil
and obsequious than the inhabitants of the village. They would take off
their hats, and make the humblest bows you ever saw. If the children
were rude, they were pretty certain to get their ears boxed; and as for
the dogs, if a single cur in the pack presumed to yelp, his master
instantly beat him with a club, and tied him up without any supper.
This would have been all very well, only it proved that the villagers
cared much about the money that a stranger had in his pocket, and
nothing whatever for the human soul, which lives equally in the beggar
and the prince.

So now you can understand why old Philemon spoke so sorrowfully, when he
heard the shouts of the children and the barking of the dogs, at the
farther extremity of the village street. There was a confused din,
which lasted a good while, and seemed to pass quite through the breadth
of the valley.

"I never heard the dogs so loud!" observed the good old man.

"Nor the children so rude!" answered his good old wife.

They sat shaking their heads, one to another, while the noise came
nearer and nearer; until, at the foot of the little eminence on which
their cottage stood, they saw two travellers approaching on foot. Close
behind them came the fierce dogs, snarling at their very heels. A
little farther off, ran a crowd of children, who sent up shrill cries,