“Rotten apples,” said the fellow, “a whole bag full for the pigs.”
“That’s an awful lot! I wish mother could see that. Last year we only had one apple on the old tree by the peat shed. That apple had to be saved, and it stood on the chest until it burst. ‘There’s always something,’ said mother. Here she could see something! Yes, I wish she could see this.”
“Well, what will you give me for them?” asked the fellow.
“Give? I’ll trade my hen for them,” and so he gave the hen in exchange, got the apples, and went into the inn, right to the counter. He put his bag with apples up against the stove and didn’t think about the fire burning in it. There were many strangers in the room—horse and cattle dealers, and two Englishmen. They are so rich that their pockets are bursting with gold coins, and they like to gamble. Now listen to this!
“Sizz, sizz!” What was that noise by the stove? The apples were starting to bake.
“What’s that?” Well, they soon heard the whole story about the horse that was traded for a cow, and right down to the rotten apples.
“Well, you’ll get knocked about by your wife when you get home!” said the Englishmen. “She’ll raise the roof!”
“I’ll get kisses, not knocks,” said the farmer. “My wife will say, ‘What father does is always right. ”’
“Shall we bet on that?” they asked. “Pounds of gold coins. A barrel full.”
“A bushel will be enough,” said the farmer, “I can only bet my bushel of apples, and I’ll throw in my wife and me, but that’ll be more than even—a heaping measure.”
“Done! Done!” they said, and the bet was made.
The innkeeper’s wagon was brought out. The Englishmen got in, the farmer got in, the rotten apples were gotten in, and then they got to the farmer’s house.
“Good evening, mother!”
“Welcome home, father!”
“I’ve been trading!”
“Well, you know how to do it,” said his wife and put her arms around his waist. She forgot both the sack and the strangers.
“I traded the horse for a cow!”
“Thank God for the milk!” said his wife. “Now we can have dairy products—butter and cheese on the table. That was a lovely trade!”
“Yes, but then I traded the cow for a sheep.”
“That’s even better!” said his wife. “You’re always thinking. We have enough grazing for a sheep. Now we can have sheep’s milk and cheese and woolen stockings. Even woolen night-shirts ! A cow can’t give that. She loses her hair. How you think things through!”
“But I traded the sheep for a goose.”
“Will we really have a Martinmas goose this year, dear father ? You always think of pleasing me! What a delightful thought. The goose can be tethered and fattened up for Martinmas.”
“But I traded the goose for a hen,” said the husband.
“Hen! That was a good trade,” said his wife. “A hen will lay eggs, and they’ll hatch. We’ll have chicks, a henyard! That’s something I’ve really wished for.”
“Well, I traded the hen for a sack of rotten apples.”
“I must kiss you!” said his wife. “Thank you, my own dear husband! Now I’ll tell you something. While you were gone, I thought about making you a really good meal—an omelet with chives. I had the eggs, but not the chives. So I went over to the school master’s. I know they have chives, but that woman is stingy, the troll. I asked to borrow —‘borrow?’ she said. Nothing grows in our garden, not even a rotten apple! I can’t even loan her that. Now I can lend her ten, yes, a whole bag full! Isn’t that fun, father!” And then she kissed him right on the lips.
“I like that,” said the Englishmen. “From bad to worse, but always just as happy. That’s worth the money!” And then they paid a bushel of gold coins to the farmer, who got kisses, not knocks.
Yes, it always pays off for a wife to realize and admit that father is the wisest and what he does is always right.
See, there’s the story! I heard it as a child, and now you have heard it too, and know that what father does is always right.
ORIGINAL FAIRY TALES
THE SHADOW
THE SUN REALLY BURNS in the warm countries! People become quite mahogany brown there, and actually in the warmest countries they burn completely black. Now it was to one of these warm countries that a scholar had come from a cold one. He thought that he could run around there like he did at home, but that habit soon changed. He and all other sensible people had to remain indoors. The window shutters and doors had to be closed the entire day. It seemed as if everyone was sleeping, or no one was at home. The small street with the high houses where he lived was built so that the sun shone on it from morning till night. It was really intolerable! The scholar from the cold country—he was a young man, a smart man—felt like he was sitting in a red-hot oven. The heat really took a lot out of him. He became quite thin, and even his shadow shrank. It became much smaller than it was at home.
