"Well, Hans, why do you go on foot, then?"
"Ah!" said he, "I have this load to carry; to be sure, it is silver,
but it is so heavy that I can't hold up my head, and it hurts my
shoulder sadly."
"What do you say to changing?" said the horseman. "I will give you my
horse, and you shall give me the silver."
"With all my heart," said Hans, "but I tell you one thing: you will
have a weary task to drag it along."
The horseman got off, took the silver, helped Hans up, gave him the
bridle into his hand, and said--
"When you want to go very fast, you must smack your lips loud and cry,
'Jip.'"
Hans was delighted as he sat on the horse, and rode merrily on. After
a time he thought he should like to go a little faster, so he smacked
his lips and cried "Jip." Away went the horse full gallop, and before
Hans knew what he was about, he was thrown off, and lay in a ditch by
the wayside, and his horse would have run off if a shepherd, who was
coming by driving a cow, had not stopped it. Hans soon came to
himself, and got upon his legs again. He was sadly vexed, and said to
the shepherd--
"This riding is no joke when a man gets on a beast like this, that
stumbles and flings him off as if he would break his neck. However,
I'm off now once for all. I like your cow a great deal better; one can
walk along at one's leisure behind her, and have milk, butter, and
cheese every day into the bargain. What would I give to have such a
cow!"
"Well," said the shepherd, "if you are so fond of her I will change my
cow for your horse."
"Done!" said Hans merrily.
The shepherd jumped upon the horse and away he rode. Hans drove off
his cow quietly, and thought his bargain a very lucky one.
"If I have only a piece of bread (and I certainly shall be able to get
that), I can, whenever I like, eat my butter and cheese with it, and
when I am thirsty I can milk my cow and drink the milk. What can I
wish for more?" said he.
When he came to an inn he halted, ate up all his bread, and gave away
his last penny for a glass of beer. Then he drove his cow towards his
mother's village. The heat grew greater as noon came on, till at last
he found himself on a wide heath that it would take him more than an
hour to cross, and he began to be so hot and parched that his tongue
cleaved to the roof of his mouth.
"I can find a cure for this," thought he; "now will I milk my cow and
quench my thirst." So he tied her to the stump of a tree, and held his
leathern cap to milk into, but not a drop was to be had.
While he was trying his luck, and managing the matter very clumsily,
the uneasy beast gave him a kick on the head that knocked him down,
and there he lay a long while senseless. Luckily a butcher came by
driving a pig in a wheelbarrow.
"What is the matter with you?" said the butcher, as he helped him up.
Hans told him what had happened, and the butcher gave him a flask,
saying--
"There, drink and refresh yourself. Your cow will give you no milk;
she is an old beast, good for nothing but the slaughter-house."
"Alas, alas!" said Hans, "who would have thought it? 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, one could do something with it; it
would at any rate make some sausages."
"Well," said the butcher, "to please you I'll change and give you the
pig for the cow."
"Heaven reward you for your kindness!" said Hans, as he gave the
butcher the cow and took the pig off the wheelbarrow and drove it off,
holding it by a string 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.
The next person he met was a countryman carrying a fine white goose
under his arm. The countryman stopped to ask what was the hour, and
Hans told him all his luck, and how he had made so many good bargains.
The countryman 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 may cut plenty of fat off, it has
lived so well."
"You're right," said Hans, as he weighed it in his hand; "but my pig
is no trifle."
Meantime the countryman began to look grave, and shook his head.
"Hark ye," said he, "my good friend. Your pig may get you into a
scrape. In the village I have just come 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. It will be a bad job if they catch you, for
the least they'll do will be to throw you into the horse-pond."
Poor Hans was sadly frightened.
"Good man," cried he, "pray get me out of this scrape. You know this
country better than I; take my pig and give me the goose."
"I ought to have something into the bargain," said the countryman;
"however, I'll not bear 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 his way homeward free from care.
"After all," thought he, "I have 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!"
As he came to the last village he saw a scissors-grinder, with his
wheel, working away and singing--
"O'er hill and o'er dale so happy I roam,
Work light and live well, all the world is my home;
Who so blythe, so merry as I?"