“Oh, no; oh, no,” cried the sexton; “I will give you a whole bushel full of
money if you will let me go.”
“Why, that is another matter,” said Little Claus, opening the chest. The
sexton crept out, pushed the empty chest into the water, and went to his
house, then he measured out a whole bushel full of gold for Little Claus,
who had already received one from the farmer, so that now he had a barrow
full.
“I have been well paid for my horse,” said he to himself when he reached
home, entered his own room, and emptied all his money into a heap on the
floor. “How vexed Great Claus will be when he finds out how rich I have
become all through my one horse; but I shall not tell him exactly how it all
happened.” Then he sent a boy to Great Claus to borrow a bushel measure.
“What can he want it for?” thought Great Claus; so he smeared the
bottom of the measure with tar, that some of whatever was put into it might
stick there and remain. And so it happened; for when the measure returned,
three new silver florins were sticking to it.
“What does this mean?” said Great Claus; so he ran off directly to Little
Claus, and asked, “Where did you get so much money?”
“Oh, for my horse’s skin, I sold it yesterday.”
“It was certainly well paid for then,” said Great Claus; and he ran home
to his house, seized a hatchet, and knocked all his four horses on the head,
flayed off their skins, and took them to the town to sell. “Skins, skins,
who’ll buy skins?” he cried, as he went through the streets. All the
shoemakers and tanners came running, and asked how much he wanted for
them.
“A bushel of money, for each,” replied Great Claus.
“Are you mad?” they all cried; “do you think we have money to spend by
the bushel?”
“Skins, skins,” he cried again, “who’ll buy skins?” but to all who
inquired the price, his answer was, “a bushel of money.”
