“But I haven’t the sheep any more than
the rest,” said Gudbrand, “for when I
got a bit farther, I traded it away for a goose.”
“Thank you, thank you, with all my heart,”
cried his wife, “what should I do with a sheep?
I have no spinning wheel or carding comb, nor should
I care to worry myself with cutting, and shaping, and
sewing clothes. We can buy clothes now as we
have always done; and now I shall have roast goose,
which I have longed for so often; and, besides, down
with which to stuff my little pillow. Run out,
child, and put up the goose.
“Well!” said Gudbrand, “I haven’t
the goose either; for when I had gone a bit farther
I traded it for a cock.”
“Dear me!” cried his wife, “how
you think of everything! just as I should have done
myself. A cock! think of that! Why it’s
as good as an eight day clock, for every day the cock
crows at four o’clock, and we shall be able
to stir our stiff legs in good time. What should
we do with a goose? I don’t know how to
cook it; and as for my pillow, I can stuff it with
cotton grass. Run out, child, and put up the cock.”
“But after all, I haven’t the cock either,”
said Gudbrand, “for when I had gone a bit farther,
I became as hungry as a hunter, so I was forced to
sell the cock for a shilling, for fear I should starve.”
“Now, God be praised that you did so!”
cried his wife, “whatever you do, you do it
always just after my own heart. What should we
do with the cock? We are our own masters, I should
think, and can lie abed in the morning as long as
we like. Heaven be thanked that I have you safe
back again; you who do everything so well, that I
want neither cock nor goose; neither pigs nor kine.”
Then Gudbrand opened the door and said,—
“Well, what do you say now? Have I won
the hundred crowns?” and his neighbor was forced
to admit that he had.
Once on a time, there was a man who had a meadow,
which lay high upon the hillside, and in the meadow
was a barn, which he had built to keep his hay in.
Now, I must tell you there hadn’t been much in
the barn for the last year or two, for every St. John’s
night, when the grass stood greenest and deepest,
the meadow was eaten down to the very ground the next
morning, just as if a whole drove of sheep had been
there feeding on it over night. This happened
once, and it happened twice; so at last the man grew
weary of losing his crop of hay, and said to his sons—for
he had three of them, and the youngest was nicknamed
Boots, of course—that now one of them must
just go and sleep in the barn in the outlying field
when St. John’s night came, for it was no joke
that his grass should be eaten, root and blade, this
year, as it had been the last two years. So whichever
of them went must keep a sharp look-out; that was
what their father said.
