“Stop that nonsense!” the old man ordered. “I will not give you a horse. You can’t speak wisely. You don’t know how to choose your words. But your brothers—ah! they are very different lads.”
“All right,” Hans said, “I have a goat. If you won’t give me a horse, the goat will have to serve instead. He can carry me.”
So he put a bridle on his goat, got on its back, dug his heels into its sides and went clattering down the road like a hurricane. Hoppitty hop! What a ride!
“Here I come!” Blockhead Hans shouted, and he sang so that the echoes were roused near and far.
Once he stopped and picked up a dead crow. Presently he overtook his brothers as they rode slowly along on their fine horses. They were not speaking, but were turning over in their minds all the clever things they intended to say, for everything had to be thought out.
“Hello!” Blockhead Hans bawled, “here I am. Just see what I found on the road.” And he proudly held up the dead crow for them to look at.
“You foolish lad,” his brothers said, “what are you going to do with it?”
“I shall give it to the princess,” he answered.
“Do so, certainly!” they said, laughing loudly and riding on.
Blockhead Hans thought he would continue the journey in their company, but he saw an old wooden shoe by the roadside. Such a prize was not to be neglected, and he got off his goat and picked it up. Then he cantered along the highway till he came up behind his brothers.