A Satyr, ranging in the forest in winter, came across a Traveller, half starved with the cold. He took pity on him and invited him to go to his cave. On their way the Man kept blowing upon his fingers.  
"Why do you do that?" said the Satyr, who had seen little of the world.
 
"To warm my hands, they are nearly frozen," replied the Man.
 
Arrived at the cave, the Satyr poured out a mess of smoking pottage and laid it before the Tra............