—Louise E. Chollet
THE GOLDEN PEARS
There was once a poor peasant of Bürs who had nothing in the world but three sons, and a pear-tree that grew in front of his cottage. But the pears were very fine, and the Kaiser was fond of the fruit, so he said to his sons, one day, that he would send the Kaiser a basket as a present. “Perhaps,” said he, “if the fruit please him he may help me and mine.”
He plaited a krattle, or basket, and lined it with fresh leaves. Then he gathered the finest pears from the tree, large ones as yellow as gold, and laid them on the green leaves.
“Take these to the Kaiser,” said he to his eldest son, “and see that thou dost not let anyone rob thee of them by the way.”
“Leave that to me, father,” said the boy, “I know how to take care of my own. It isn’t much anyone will get out of me by asking. I’ll have my answer, I can tell you.” So he closed up the mouth of the basket with fresh leaves and set out to take the pears to the Kaiser.
It was autumn and the sun struck hot all through the midday hours; so when the boy came at last to a wayside fountain he stopped to drink and to rest in its coolness. A little doubled-up old woman was washing some rags at the fountain and singing a ditty all out of tune. “A witch, I’ll be bound,” said the boy to himself, “she’ll be trying to get my pears, by hook or by crook, but I’ll be up to her.”
“A fair day, my lad,” said the little old wife; “that’s a weighty burden you have to carry. What may it be with which you are so heavily laden?”
“A load of sweepings from the road, to see whether I may turn a penny by it,” answered the boy, shortly, to stop any further questioning.
“Road-sweepings,” repeated the hag, as if she did not believe it. “Belike you don’t mean that?”