‘Oh, what a misfortune!’ cried the host, wringing his hands. ‘It all comes from my hot temper! Dear Little Klaus! I will give you a bushel of money, and will bury your grandmother as if she were my own; only don’t tell about it, or I shall have my head cut off, and that would be very uncomfortable.’
So Little Klaus got a bushel of money, and the host buried his grandmother as if she had been his own.
Now when Little Klaus again reached home with so much money he sent his boy to Big Klaus to borrow his bushel measure.
‘What’s this?’ said Big Klaus. ‘Didn’t I kill him? I must see to this myself!’
So he went himself to Little Klaus with the measure.
‘Well, now, where did you get all this money?’ asked he, opening his eyes at the heap.
‘You killed my grandmother—not me,’ said Little Klaus. ‘I sold her, and got a bushel of money for her.’
‘That is indeed a good price!’ said Big Klaus; and, hurrying home, he took an axe and killed his grandmother, laid her in the cart, and drove off to the apothecary’s, and asked whether he wanted to buy a dead body.
‘Who is it, and how did you get it?’ asked the apothecary.
‘It is my grandmother,’ said Big Klaus. ‘I killed her in order to get a bushel of money.’