Once there was a baker who had a very bad, violent temper, and whenever a batch of bread was spoiled he flew into such a rage, that his wife and daughters dared not go near him. One day it happened that all his bread was burnt, and on this he stamped and raved with anger. He threw the loaves all about the floor, when one, burnt blacker than the rest, broke in half, and out of it crept a tiny thin black man, no thicker than an eel, with long arms and legs.
“What are you making all this fuss about, Master Baker?” said he. “If you will give me a home in your oven I will see to the baking of your bread, and will answer for it that you shall never have so much as a loaf spoiled.”
“And pray what sort of bread would it be, if you were in the oven, and helped to bake it?” said the baker; “I think my customers might not like to eat it.”
“On the contrary,” said the imp, “they would like it exceedingly. It is true that it would make them rather unhappy, but that will not hurt you, as you need not eat it yourself.”
“Why should it make them unhappy?” said the baker. “If it is good bread it won’t do anyone harm, and if it is bad they won’t buy it.”
“It will taste very good,” replied the imp, “but it will make all who eat it discontented, and they will think themselves very unfortunate whether they are so or no; but this will not do you any harm, and I promise you that you shall sell as much as you wish.”
“Agreed!” said the baker. So the little imp crept into the oven and curled himself into the darkness behind, and the baker saw no more of him.
But next day he made a great batch of bread, and though he took no heed of the time when he put it in, and drew it out, just as he wanted it, it was done quite right—neither too dark nor too light—and the baker was in high good humour.
The first person who tasted the bread was the chief justice. He came down to breakfast in high spirits, for he had just heard that an old aunt was dead, and had left him a great deal of money. So he kissed his wife and chucked his daughters under the chin, and told them that he had good news for them. His old aunt had left him twenty thousand pounds in her will. On this his wife clapped her hands for joy, and his daughters ran to him and kissed him, and begged him to let them have some of it. So they all sat down to breakfast in great glee, but no sooner had the justice tasted the bread than his face fell.
“This is excellent bread,” he said, taking a large slice; “I wish everything else were as good;” and he heaved a deep sigh.
“Why?” cried his wife, who had not yet begun to eat. “This morning, I am sure, there is nothing for you to complain of.”
“Nay!” said the mayor; “it is very nice to have twenty thousand pounds, but think how much nicer it would have been if it had been thirty. How much more one could have done with that! Or even if it had been twenty-five thousand pounds, or even twenty-one. Twenty-one thousand pounds is a very nice sum of money, but twenty thousand pounds is no good at all. I am not sure that it would not be better not to have had any.”
“Nonsense!” cried his wife, who was now eating her breakfast also; “you are very wicked to be so discontented; but one thing I do say. It would have been much nicer if we had had it when we were young and better able to enjoy it. Money is very little use to people at our time of life. It would have been really nice if we had had it fifteen years ago. As it is, I can’t say I care much for it, and it makes me sad to think we did not get it before.”
“Nay,” cried the daughters; “in that case how much better it would have been for us to have it instead of you; we are young, and able to enjoy ourselves, and we could have given you a little of it if you’d liked, but we could have been very happy with the rest; as it is, it is no pleasure to us.”
So they fell to quarrelling about the money, and by the time breakfast was done, they all had tears in their eyes, and felt discontented and unhappy.
The next person to eat the bread was the village doctor. All night long he had been sitting up with a man who had broken his leg, and he had feared lest he should die, but as morning came he saw he would live, so he returned home to his wife in very good spirits, although he was sadly tired. The wife had already had her breakfast, but she had made all ready for her husband, with a loaf of the baker’s new bread.
“See, dear husband,” she said, “here is your breakfast, and some nice bread quite new, because I know you like it. How glad we ought to be, that this poor man is likely to live.”
“Yes, indeed,” said the doctor; “being up all night is tiring work, but I don’t grudge it when I know that it does some good,” and then he began to eat. “I am not sure, after all, that I have done such a good thing in curing this man. It is true that his broken leg hurt him very much, but perhaps when he is well again, he may break his back, and that would be much worse. Perhaps I had better have left him to die. I daresay when he is quite well, all
