a pig in a wheelbarrow. 'What is the matter with you, my man?' said
the butcher, as he helped him up. Hans told him what had happened, how
he was dry, and wanted to milk his cow, but found the cow was dry too.
Then the butcher gave him a flask of ale, saying, 'There, drink and
refresh yourself; your cow will give you no milk: don't you see she is
an old beast, good for nothing but the slaughter-house?' 'Alas, alas!'
said Hans, 'who would have thought it? What a shame to take my horse,
and give me only a dry cow! If I kill her, what will she be good for?
I hate cow-beef; it is not tender enough for me. If it were a pig now
--like that fat gentleman you are driving along at his ease--one could
do something with it; it would at any rate make sausages.' 'Well,'
said the butcher, 'I don't like to say no, when one is asked to do a
kind, neighbourly thing. To please you I will change, and give you my
fine fat pig for the cow.' 'Heaven reward you for your kindness and
self-denial!' said Hans, as he gave the butcher the cow; and taking
the pig off the wheel-barrow, drove it away, holding it by the string
that was tied to its leg.

So on he jogged, and all seemed now to go right with him: he had met
with some misfortunes, to be sure; but he was now well repaid for all.
How could it be otherwise with such a travelling companion as he had
at last got?

The next man he met was a countryman carrying a fine white goose. The
countryman stopped to ask what was o'clock; this led to further chat;
and Hans told him all his luck, how he had so many good bargains, and
how all the world went gay and smiling with him. The countryman than
began to tell his tale, and said he was going to take the goose to a
christening. 'Feel,' said he, 'how heavy it is, and yet it is only
eight weeks old. Whoever roasts and eats it will find plenty of fat
upon it, it has lived so well!' 'You're right,' said Hans, as he
weighed it in his hand; 'but if you talk of fat, my pig is no trifle.'
Meantime the countryman began to look grave, and shook his head. 'Hark
ye!' said he, 'my worthy friend, you seem a good sort of fellow, so I
can't help doing you a kind turn. Your pig may get you into a scrape.
In the village I just came from, the squire has had a pig stolen out
of his sty. I was dreadfully afraid when I saw you that you had got
the squire's pig. If you have, and they catch you, it will be a bad
job for you. The least they will do will be to throw you into the
horse-pond. Can you swim?'

Poor Hans was sadly frightened. 'Good man,' cried he, 'pray get me out
of this scrape. I know nothing of where the pig was either bred or
born; but he may have been the squire's for aught I can tell: you know
this country better than I do, take my pig and give me the goose.' 'I
ought to have something into the bargain,' said the countryman; 'give
a fat goose for a pig, indeed! 'Tis not everyone would do so much for
you as that. However, I will not be hard upon you, as you are in
trouble.' Then he took the string in his hand, and drove off the pig
by a side path; while Hans went on the way homewards free from care.
'After all,' thought he, 'that chap is pretty well taken in. I don't
care whose pig it is, but wherever it came from it has been a very
good friend to me. I have much the best of the bargain. First there
will be a capital roast; then the fat will find me in goose-grease for
six months; and then there are all the beautiful white feathers. I
will put them into my pillow, and then I am sure I shall sleep soundly
without rocking. How happy my mother will be! Talk of a pig, indeed!
Give me a fine fat goose.'

As he came to the next village, he saw a scissor-grinder with his
wheel, working and singing,

'O'er hill and o'er dale
So happy I roam,
Work light and live well,
All the world is my home;
Then who so blythe, so merry as I?'

Hans stood looking on for a while, and at last said, 'You must be well
off, master grinder! you seem so happy at your work.' 'Yes,' said the
other, 'mine is a golden trade; a good grinder never puts his hand
into his pocket without finding money in it--but where did you get
that beautiful goose?' 'I did not buy it, I gave a pig for it.' 'And
where did you get the pig?' 'I gave a cow for it.' 'And the cow?' 'I
gave a horse for it.' 'And the horse?' 'I gave a lump of silver as big
as my head for it.' 'And the silver?' 'Oh! I worked hard for that
seven long years.' 'You have thriven well in the world hitherto,' said
the grinder, 'now if you could find money in your pocket whenever you
put your hand in it, your fortune would be made.' 'Very true: but how
is that to be managed?' 'How? Why, you must turn grinder like myself,'
said the other; 'you only want a grindstone; the rest will come of
itself. Here is one that is but little the worse for wear: I would not
ask more than the value of your goose for it--will you buy?' 'How can
you ask?' said Hans; 'I should be the happiest man in the world, if I
could have money whenever I put my hand in my pocket: what could I
want more? there's the goose.' 'Now,' said the grinder, as he gave him
a common rough stone that lay by his side, 'this is a most capital
stone; do but work it well enough, and you can make an old nail cut
with it.'

Hans took the stone, and went his way with a light heart: his eyes
sparkled for joy, and he said to himself, 'Surely I must have been
born in a lucky hour; everything I could want or wish for comes of
itself. People are so kind; they seem really to think I do them a
favour in letting them make me rich, and giving me good bargains.'

Meantime he began to be tired, and hungry too, for he had given away
his last penny in his joy at getting the cow.

At last he could go no farther, for the stone tired him sadly: and he


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