"Done! taken!" and so the bet was made.

Then the landlord's coach came to the door, and the two Englishmen and the peasant got in, and away they drove, and soon arrived and stopped at the peasant's hut. "Good evening, old woman." "Good evening, old man," "I've made the exchange."

“Ah, well, you understand what you're about," said the woman. Then she embraced him, and paid no attention to the strangers, nor did she notice the sack.

"I got a cow in exchange for the horse."

"Thank Heaven," said she. "Now we shall have plenty of milk, and butter, and cheese on the table. That was a capital exchange."

"Yes, but I changed the cow for a sheep."

"Ah, better still!" cried the wife. "You always think of everything; we have just enough pasture for a sheep. Ewe's milk and cheese, woollen jackets and stockings! The cow could not give all these, and her hairs only fall off. everything!"

How you think of

You

"But I changed away the sheep for a goose." "Then we shall have roast goose to eat this year. dear old man, you are always thinking of something to please me. This is delightful. We can let the goose walk about with a string tied to her leg, so she will be fatter still before we roast her."

"But I gave away the goose for a fowl."

"A fowl! Well, that was a good exchange," replied the woman. "The fowl will lay eggs and hatch them, and we shall have chickens; we shall soon have a poultry-yard. Oh, this is just what I was wishing for." "Yes, but I exchanged the fowl for a sack of shrivelled apples."

"What! I must really give you a kiss for that!" exclaimed the wife. My dear, good husband, now I'll tell you something. Do you know, almost as soon as you left me this morning I began thinking of what I could give you nice for supper this evening, and then I thought of fried eggs and bacon, with sweet herbs; I had eggs and bacon, but I wanted the herbs; so I went over to the schoolmaster's: I knew they had plenty of herbs, but the schoolmistress is very mean, although she can smile so sweetly. I begged her to lend me a handful of herbs. 'Lend!' she exclaimed, ‘I have nothing to lend; nothing at all grows in our garden, not even a shrivelled apple; I could not even lend you a shrivelled apple, my dear woman.' But now I can lend her ten, or a whole sackful, which I'm very glad of; it makes me laugh to think about it ;" and then she gave him a hearty kiss.

"Well, I like all this," said both the Englishmen ; "always going down the hill, and yet always merry; it's worth the money to see it." So they paid a bushel of gold to the peasant, who, whatever he did, was not scolded, but kissed.

Yes, it always pays best when the wife sees and maintains that her husband knows best, and that whatever he does is right.

This is a story which I heard when I was a child; and now you have heard it too, and know that "What the old man does is always right."

H. C. Andersen

XVII

FAMILY FRIENDS

The Schoolmistress

NEAR to this dome is found a patch so green,

On which the tribe their gambols do display, And at the door imprisoning board is seen, Lest weakly wights of smaller size should stray, Eager, perdie, to bask in sunny day!

The noises intermix'd, which thence resound,

Do Learning's little tenement betray,

Where sits the dame, disguis'd in look profound,
And eyes her fairy throng, and turns her wheel around.

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow,
Emblem right meet of decency does yield;
Her apron dy'd in grain, as blue, I trow,
As is the harebell that adorns the field;
And in her hand, for sceptre, she does wield
Tway birchen sprays, with anxious fear entwin'd,
With dark distrust, and sad repentance fill'd,
And steadfast hate, and sharp affliction join'd,
And fury uncontrol'd, and chastisement unkind.

A russet stole was o'er her shoulders thrown,
A russet kirtle fenc'd the nipping air;
'Twas simple russet, but it was her own;
'Twas her own country bred the flock so fair;
'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare ;
And, sooth to say, her pupils, rang'd around,
Through pious awe did term it passing rare,
For they in gaping wonderment abound,

And think, no doubt, she been the greatest wight on ground.

Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth,
Ne pompous title did debauch her ear,
Goody, good-woman, gossip, n'aunt, forsooth,
Or dame, the sole additions she did hear;

Yet these she challeng'd, these she held right dear;
Ne would esteem him act as nought behove
Who should not honour'd eld with these revere ;
For never title yet so mean could prove,

But there was eke a mind which did that title love.

One ancient hen she took delight to feed,
The plodding pattern of the busy dame.
Which ever and anon, impell'd by need,
Into her school, begirt with chickens, came,
Such favour did her past deportment claim ;
And, if neglect had lavish'd on the ground
Fragment of bread, she would collect the same;
For well she knew, and quaintly could expound,
What sin it were to waste the smallest crumb she found.

Herbs too she knew, and well of each could speak

That in her garden sipp'd the silvery dew,

Where no vain flower disclos'd a gaudy streak,

But herbs for use and physic, not a few

Of grey renown, within those borders grew;
The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme,

Fresh baum, and marygold of cheerful hue,
The lowly gill, that never dares to climb,

And more I fain would sing, disdaining here to rhyme.

Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung,

That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around,
And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue,

And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's wound,
And marjoram sweet, in shepherd's posie found,
And lavender, whose pikes of azure bloom

Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound,

To lurk amidst the labours of her loom,

And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle rare per

Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve,

Hymned such psalms as Sternhold forth did mete;
If winter 'twere she to her hearth did cleave,
But in her garden found a summer-seat:
Sweet melody! to hear her then repeat
How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign king,
While taunting foemen did a song entreat,
All for the nonce untuning every string,

Uphung their useless lyres-small heart had they to sing.

For she was just, and friend to virtuous lore,
And pass'd much time in truly virtuous deed;
And in those elfins' ears would oft deplore
The times when Truth by Popish rage did bleed,
And tortuous death was true Devotion's meed;
And simple Faith in iron chains did mourn,
That nould on wooden image place her creed;