woman; she could make all sorts of profits out of it. How often she has said,
‘If now we only had a goose!’ Now here is an opportunity, and, if possible,
I will get it for her. Shall we exchange? I will give you my sheep for your
goose, and thanks into the bargain.”
The other had not the least objection, and accordingly the exchange was
made, and our peasant became possessor of the goose. By this time he had
arrived very near the town. The crowd on the high road had been gradually
increasing, and there was quite a rush of men and cattle. The cattle walked
on the path and by the palings, and at the turnpike-gate they even walked
into the toll-keeper’s potato-field, where one fowl was strutting about with a
string tied to its leg, for fear it should take fright at the crowd, and run away
and get lost. The tail-feathers of the fowl were very short, and it winked
with both its eyes, and looked very cunning, as it said “Cluck, cluck.” What
were the thoughts of the fowl as it said this I cannot tell you; but directly
our good man saw it, he thought, “Why that’s the finest fowl I ever saw in
my life; it’s finer than our parson’s brood hen, upon my word. I should like
to have that fowl. Fowls can always pick up a few grains that lie about, and
almost keep themselves. I think it would be a good exchange if I could get it
for my goose. Shall we exchange?” he asked the toll-keeper.
“Exchange,” repeated the man; “well, it would not be a bad thing.”
And so they made an exchange,-the toll-keeper at the turnpike-gate kept
the goose, and the peasant carried off the fowl. Now he had really done a
great deal of business on his way to the fair, and he was hot and tired. He
wanted something to eat, and a glass of ale to refresh himself; so he turned
his steps to an inn. He was just about to enter when the ostler came out, and
they met at the door. The ostler was carrying a sack. “What have you in that
sack?” asked the peasant.
“Rotten apples,” answered the ostler; “a whole sackful of them. They will
do to feed the pigs with.”
“Why that will be terrible waste,” he replied; “I should like to take them
home to my old woman. Last year the old apple-tree by the grass-plot only
