Visitors. There are visitors.

 The goose stares benignly at them. Guests are not out of the ordinary, but somehow, despite looking like regular travelers, these men are.

 Baucis and Philemon don't seem to have noticed, though. After welcoming the travelers in, they immediately begin to make them comfortable. Philemon pulls out a bench for them to rest; Baucis covers it with a tattered blanket.

 "Have a seat," Philemon invites them. "May I ask who you are?"

 One of the men smiles vaguely.

 "Only weary travelers who were rejected from every other house we sought shelter in."

 "Ah, then please rest! Dinner will be ready shortly," Baucis says, tending the fireplace. The goose notices that the fire is stronger now – she must have used more of their precious wood. Baucis crosses the floor, brings down a wooden tub from its peg, and fills it with warm water, then sets it down in front of the guests. "For your refreshment."

 Meanwhile, Philemon leaves a small piece of meat to boil as he lifts a sedge mattress with some difficulty and sets it down on a wooden frame, creating a makeshift couch for the guests to sit on. He covers this with worn festival cloths while Baucis moves a table over. One leg is slightly too short, so she takes out a broken piece of pottery, made by one of the neighbors who is dead now. The goose saw his lifeless body, heard the whispers that this was what he deserved for not obeying the gods.

 Baucis has scrubbed the table with fresh mint, which the goose dislikes, but the humans seem to enjoy. Now, she sets dishes on the table: lightly-roasted eggs, wine-preserved cherries, and several types of vegetables. A mixing bowl of new wine is set next to them, along with beech cups lined with beeswax. Baucis, Philemon, and the guests eat and talk; then the second course is placed: a honeycomb surrounded by nuts, dried dates and figs, and various fresh fruits.

 "Your hospitality is appreciated," says one traveler. "I..."

 "Philemon," whispers Baucis to her husband as the traveler continues. The two men don't notice, but the goose, who isn't the guard for nothing, does. "Look at the wine bowl."

 Philemon turns to examine the wine bowl, and so does the goose. It doesn't seem any different: the bowl is still full of...

Oh.

Philemon, however, doesn't realize as quickly. He frowns.

 "What..."

 The goose isn't particularly bright, but it can still see the exact moment Philemon realizes just who these "travelers" are.

 "Excuse us," says Baucis humbly. "We are sorry we had not prepared better for you. We did not realize... Allow us to attempt amends."

 She and Philemon stand up, and the goose suddenly realizes what they intend to do. And maybe the goose is loyal to Baucis and Philemon - they were always good to it - but not to this extent.

So the goose runs.

The chase persists for a while. Baucis and Philemon are slowed by age, but they are smarter, minds matured from their years. After many fruitless attempts, they finally trap the goose and are about to catch it when the goose ducks between their legs and flaps over to the travelers. It may not trust them, but since its owners intend to serve it for dinner, the goose has no other choice.

 The travelers rise, stopping Baucis and Philemon.

 "Do not kill this goose," orders one of the travelers. "We are gods. Everyone who did not receive us will be duly punished; however, you will be saved and rewarded. Follow us."

 The gods walk out of the cottage, followed by Baucis and Philemon. The goose hesitates. On one hand, it is the guard of the house; on the other, Baucis and Philemon are the dearest people it knows. Before it can decide whether to stay or to go, Baucis looks back and beckons it, and the goose follows eagerly.

 They climb up a hill, the goose keeping pace with Baucis and Philemon, both of whom are heavily leaning on their walking sticks. When they finally reach the top, the goose honks in surprise. It has climbed this hill before and seen the view of the village; but now, nothing but swamp surrounds them. The only hint of civilization is Baucis and Philemon's cottage. However, it's no longer a cottage, but...

 "A temple," says one of the gods. He looks pleased, but a tear runs down Baucis's cheek, and Philemon is staring forlornly at the swamp where their neighbors once lived. The goose feels a pang of anger and of sorrow – it knows that one neighboring house would have only refused the travelers because the father was deathly ill.

"Now, what would you like as your reward?"

 Baucis and Philemon turn toward each other, discussing in whispers low enough that the goose can't hear them. It's about to waddle forward when they turn to the gods.
 "We ask to be the priests of this temple and die together, so that we may not live to see the other's grave."

 "This will be granted," smiles the god.

 

 Many years have passed in happiness and peace. Baucis, Philemon, and the goose are watching the sunset in front of the temple when there's a gasp.

 "Baucis?"

 Baucis turns to Philemon, and a look of amazement crosses her face.

 "Philemon?"

 The goose watches them as their bodies stiffen and their hair grows leaves. The gods must have done this. A sense of anger fills the goose, but then it sees Baucis and Philemon's content faces.

 "I love you," whispers Baucis. The sentiment is echoed by her husband, and then they are entirely trees, branches intertwined with each other.

 The goose isn't sure what to do. It stares longingly at the trees, wishing to be one; and its wish is granted. Juno, the goddess whom geese are sacred to, has taken mercy on it. The last thing it sees before it turns into a plant are the two trees.